LEISURE  HOUR  SERIES 


AROUND  A  SPRING 


G.DROZ 


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BUZZ  A  BUZZ;    or,  THE   BEES.     From  the  German  of 

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which  a  firmer  soil  is  to  be  found." — pp.  9,  10. 

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venerate  as  an  apology  for  those  who  honestly  differ  from  the  majority  of  their 
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RECENT    MUSIC    AND    MUSICIANS,  as  described  in 

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A  TOUR  THROUGH  THE  PYRENEES.    By  HIPPO- 

LYTE  ADOLPHE  TAINE,  author  of  "  A  History  of  English  Literature,"  "Travels  in 
Italy,"  etc." 

Having  sold  before  Christmas  the  entire  edition  of  Taine's  Pyrenees,  illustrated  by 
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library  edition. 

HENRY  HOLT  &  CO.,  Publishers,  New  York. 

February  14«,  1874. 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 

(Leisure-Hour  Series.) 

AROUND  A  SPRING. 
BABOLAIN. 


vtf' 

LEISURE  HOUR  SERIES 

AROUND  A  SPRING 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH 


GUSTAVE  DftOZ 


BY 

MS. 


SECOND   EDITION  REVISED 


NEW    YORK 
HOLT    &    WILLIAMS 

1873 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by 

HOLT   &  WILLIAMS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


MIDDLE-TON   &   CO.,  STEREOTYPKRS, 
BRIDGEPORT,    CONN. 


PQ 

Z210      . 
DM  WE 


AROUND    A    SPRING 


A  FEW  years  ago,  the  village  of  Grand-Fort-le- 
Haut  was  totally  unknown  to  the  outside  world. 
Lost  among  the  defiles  of  the  mountains,  perched 
like  a  raven's  nest  amidst  the  branches  of  an  old  wal- 
nut tree,  it  was  far  removed  from  all  progress,  a 
stranger  to  political  emotions,  unmoved  by  social 
changes.  The  pretty  road,  adorned  with  side  walks, 
gas-burners  and  tiny  fountains,  which  now  leads  to  it, 
turning  and  winding  like  a  braided  ribbon,  did  not 
then  exist,  and  the  only  communication  possible  be- 
tween the  valley  and  the  village  was  a  rough,  sunken 
road,  encumbered  by  stones  which  the  melting  snows 
and  heavy  rains  yearly  deposited,  and  so  steep  that 
nothing  but  ox  teams  could  ascend. 

About  half  way  up  this  picturesque,  but  almost 
impassable  road,  may  be  seen  on  the  left,  nearly  con- 
cealed by  briars,  a  fine  old  bridge,  which,  spite  of  its 
great  age,  boldly  arches  the  deep  ravine,  and  abuts 
upon  a  dark  old  doorway  almost  as  ancient  as  itself, 
filled  with  clefts,  surmounted  by  a  large  escutcheon, 
and  studded  with  enormous  nails.  This  was  the  en- 
trance to  the  chateau  of  Manteigney,  whose  slender 
towers,  pointed  roofs,  narrow,  strongly-barred  win- 
dows, and  thick,  reddish  walls,  covered  with  moss 
and  ivy,  may  be  indistinctly  perceived  through  the 
foliage.  It  had  been  deserted  fifteen  or  twenty  years 
ago,  and  the  sight  of  the  old  feudal  manor,  rising  in 
stately  solitude  from  the  ravine,  and  silent  as  a  tomb, 


4  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

was  indescribably  mournful  to  a  Parisian  eye ;  so, 
after  a  hasty  glance,  one  would  continue  his  way 
without  a  second  look,  until  he  gained  the  first  houses 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  which  soon  appeared, 
and  instantly  effaced  the  impression  produced  by  the 
chateau. 

Nothing  can  be  more  bright  and  cheerful  than 
these  pine  huts,  with  their  tall  brick  chimneys  ming- 
ling with  the  foliage,  large,  flat,  reddish  roofs  over- 
shadowing cracked,  propped,  disjointed  balconies,  cov- 
ered with  creepers  and  wild  eglantine,  little  low 
doors,  and  tottering  staircases  which  would  creak  un- 
der the  weight  of  a  bird.  They  stand  steeped  in  the 
sunlight,  scattered  hap-hazard  on  both  sides  of  the 
road,  keeping  their  balance  tolerably  well  on  the 
sharp  slope,  among  the  gnarled  chestnut  trees  which 
shelter  them  with  their  huge  branches,  uphold  them 
with  their  gigantic  roots,  and  seem  to  make  a  part  of 
their  structure. 

I  well  remember  the  flock  of  ducklings  which, 
startled  at  my  approach  the  first  time  I  entered  the 
village,  fluttered  about  among  a  number  of  half-naked 
babies  lying  on  a  clean  white  cloth,  like  Homer's 
phoci  on  the  shore  of  the  sea.  The  picture  is  as  per- 
fect as  ever  in  my  mind.  The  screaming  babies  and 
bewildered  ducklings  tumbling  about  among  the  fat 
legs  and  dimpled  arms,  an  old  grandmother  with  out- 
stretched, wrinkled  neck  surveying  the  scene  through 
her  spectacles,  and  threatening  the  rebels  with  her 
distaff,  and  a  stout  man  engaged  in  cutting  poles, 
laughing  till  he  shook  from  head  to  foot.  It  was  a 
pleasant  incident  both  to  eyes  and  heart ;  one  felt 
that  one  was  in  the  midst  of  worthy  people.  Even 
the  sun,  which  flickered  through  the  foliage  as  if  it 
were  an  immense  skimmer,  had  a  specially  friendly, 
cordial  aspect,  and  seemed  to  delight  in  sending  a 
thousand  rays  to  play  over  the  scene ;  here,  lost  in  a 
mass  of  lair  hair,  and  yonder  in  the  folds  of  a  blue 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  5 

apron  ;  now'gliding  over  a  ploughshare,  and  now  glit- 
tering, not  without  malice,  on  the  scarlet  kerchief  of 
a  young  girl  talking  to  the  shoemaker,  who  appeared 
as  if  framed  in  his  narrow  window,  between  two  pots 
of  wall-flowers,  laughing,  jesting,  attractive,  irresisti- 
ble. One  could  not  help  noticing  the  sun,  for  it  was 
everywhere  flashing  on  the  little  round  glass  panes 
in  their  leaden  casing,  adorning  with  brilliant  colors 
the  scraps  hanging  from  the  balconies  here  and  there, 
or  converting  a  long  bit  of  straw  from  some  roof  into 
a  golden  thread  that  glittered  in  the  shadow.  What 
a  pretty  collection  of  brilliant  hues,  and  how  charm- 
ing to  the  eye  was  the  glimpse  of  the  interior  of  the 
blacksmith's  shop,  with  its  warm  rich  tones  which 
please  the  eye  as  much  as  the  fumes  of  a  good  ragout 
delight  the  gourmand.  The  innumerable  spider-webs 
looked  like  a  milk-white  cloud  against  the  smoky 
rafters  of  the  roof,  and  while  the  brawny  neck  of  the 
Cyclops  assumed  tints  of  gold  and  purple  beneath 
the  caress  of  the  sun's  rays,  the  fire  in  the  forge  grew 
pale  and  dim. 

Spite  of  the  delay,  I  wish  to  make  one  remark 
here.  Let  those  who  are  in  a  hurry  glide  over  it 
rapidly.  Phoebus  is  not  merely  the  handsome,  pom- 
pous youth,  curled  a  la  Louis  XIV.,  blessing  the 
world  from  his  gilded  chariot,  and  whirling  through 
space  as  fast  as  his  four  coursers  can  carry  him.  He 
likes  to  peep  tlirough  the  vine  branches  and  pry  into 
little  corners  without  caring  for  decorum,  or  thinking 
of  his  plumes,  visit  poor  people,  and  thrust  his  laugh- 
ing face  into  attics.  If  a  place  pleases  him,  he  forgets 
his  astronomy,  and  without  the  least  ceremony  in- 
terests himself  in  botany,  and  plays  with  the  children. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  in  dull  weather,  Grand- 
Fort-le-Haut  is  sombre,  gloomy,  rough,  and  poverty- 
stricken;  but  I  first  saw  it  under  a  cloudless  sky,  when 
all  was  merriment,  all  seemed  rich,  and  songs  echoed 
from  every  dwelling ;  the  villagers  were  hammering 


6  ABOUND  A  SPRING. 

pounding,  working  together  in  the  middle  of  1he 
rough  road,over  which  no  carriage  ever  passed.  The 
carpenter's  axe  flashed  like  the  sword  of  the  archan- 
gel ;  the  wheelwright  turned  his  huge  screw,  pressing 
his  stout  form  against  it  with  many  a  grunt; and  from 
time  to  time,  farther  on,  merry  rogues  sat  cracking 
their  whips  astride  the  greasy  machine  for  shoeing 
oxen,  which  might  have  been  taken  for  some  unknown 
tool  of  the  Holy  Inquisition.  The  recollection  of 
the  little  scene  is  still  firmly  impressed  on  my  mem- 
ory. 

To  conclude,  Mayor  Baravoux  was  a  grocer,  and 
his  assistant  kept  the  little  inn,  whose  fir  boughs 
might  be  perceived  In  the  distance.  The  spit  was 
seldom  turned  within  its  walls,  for  very  few  persons 
came  there ;  no  one,  to  tell  the  truth,  except  the  for- 
est-keepers who  sometimes  stopped  while  on  their 
rounds. 

After  passing  through  the  whole  village,  a  little, 
irregular,  grass-grown  square  appears,  at  one  end  of 
which  stands  the  humble  church,  worn  by  time  and 
the  winter  snows.  Its  modest  belfry  scarcely  over- 
tops the  lofty  chestnut  tree  growing  near  the  porch. 
An  unpretending  belfry  we  might  well  call  it.  Im- 
agine a  noisy  child  striking  a  Dutch  oven  with  a  pot 
ladle.  -The  most  remarkable  thing  about  it  is,  that 
the  quavering  of  its  faint  voice  has  a  simple,  hearty 
sound  by  no  means  inappropriate  to  the  surroundings. 
On  approaching  nearer  and  looking  at  the  porch, 
whose  timbers  are  worn  by  friction  as  far  as  the 
height  of  a  man,  one  can  see  the  great  ladder  and 
fire  buckets,  the  bier  on  which  the  dead  are  borne  to 
the  grave,  and  the  round  shelf  containing  the  conse- 
crated bread,  stored  away  in  the  roof.  The  floor  is 
flagged  with  tombstones, whose  inscriptions  and  sculp- 
tured ornaments  long  since  disappeared  under  the 
tread  of  the  congregation.  The  door  is  charming 
with  its  triple  row  of  crumbling  columns,  and  single 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  7 

arch  carved  as  elaborately  as  a  Byzantine  bracelet. 
Spite  of  its  decay,  the  keystone  of  the  arch  still  re- 
vealed traces  of  a  fiend  tempting  and  Christ  in  the 
act  of  benediction.  God  had  wholly  disappeared,  and 
nothing  was  left  of  the  devil  but  an  enormous  tail, 
twisting-  about  between  the  alternately  raised  and 
hollowed  squares  which  surrounded  the  whole  arch. 
Who  could  the  skilful  artist,  angel  or  fiend,  have 
been  who  carved  so  exquisitely  in  this  wild  place  ? 
These  surprises  are  by  no  means  rare  in  France.  In, 
the  most  out-of-the-way  wretched  corners,  may  some- 
times be  found  some  delicate  fragment  of  art,  the  for- 
gotten relic  of  a  lost  civilization,  a  mute  witness  of 
a  feeling  which  must  have  sprung  up  and  died  in  this 
solitary  place :  but  to  continue. 

On  the  left  of  the  ancient  church,  and  resting 
against  it,  was  a  little  house  built  of  round  stones, 
cemented  by  grayish  mortar,  and  sin-mounted  with  a 
red  roof.  It  was  an  humble  dwelling,  only  one  story 
in  height,  with  a  little  blooming  garden  about  ten 
yards  square  at  most,  in  front,  and  overlooking  the  ra- 
vine in  the  rear.  If  you  passed  it  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, you  would  probably  see  a  tall  man,  clothed  in 
a  black  robe,  perched  on  a  ladder,  pruning-knife  in 
hand,  training  his  grape-vine.  The  little  house  was 
the  priest's  dwelling,  and  the  man  in  black  no  other 
than  Abbe  Roche,  cur6  of  Grand-Fort-le-Haut. 

He  was  about  thirty-eight  or  nine  years  old,  tall, 
stout,  firmly  built,  broad  shouldered,  and  possessing 
the  easy  carriage  and  bold,  free  step  which  in  society 
is  most  frequently  only  an  acquirement  obtained  by 
certain  modes  of  life,  but  with  him  was  the  natural 
result  of  an  upright  mind  and  vigorous  health  lodged 
in  a  robust  well-balanced  frame.  His  clear,  searching 
glance  was  that  of  a  man  who,  having  nothing  to 
conceal,  looks  people  in  the  face  wishing  to  under- 
stand them,  and  only  asking  to  be  understood  in  re- 
turn. The  prominent  muscles  of  his  jaw,  contracting 


8  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

at  the  slightest  emotion,  indicated  rare  energy,  which 
was  confirmed  by  the  strong  white  teeth  slightly  curv- 
ing inwards.  His  hair  was  thick,  somewhat  rough, 
and  cut  very  short. 

In  character  he  was  benevolent,  generous,  and 
good;but  his  smile,  however  frank,  always  had  a  some- 
what sad  expression,  and  even  in  his  acts  of  kindness 
he  was  grave,  and  might  easily  have  been  considered 
proud  and  haughty.  The  true  reason  was  that  Abbe 
Roche  had  never  known  either  lather  or  mother,  and 
submitted  to  the  common  law  imposed  upon  those 
poor  children  who,  having  always  been  ignorant  of 
familiar  caresses  and  the  frank  affection  of  home,  feel 
themselves  strangers  at  every  board,  and  maintain  a 
constant  reserve.  Such  children  are  long  in  unfold- 
ing their  characters ;  it  seems  as  if  an  endless  regret 
was  weighing  upon  them.  Kisses  are  to  childhood 
what  the-  warm  sun  is  to  the  young  buds  of  spring. 
Plants  and  men  droop  sadly  in  the  shade. 

Although  he  cultivated  his  garden  himself,  was  a 
great  player  at  bowls,  and  had  a  decided  liking  for 
physical  exertion,  his  sunburnt  hands  were  delicate 
if  not  white,  his  fingers  beautifully  formed,  straight, 
supple  and  strong,  and  his  nails  well  shaped.  He  did 
not  have  the  wan,  soft  hand  that  is  frequently,  and 
often  incorrectly,  associated  with  churchmen,  but 
rather  that  of  a  gentleman  who  has  handled  a  sword 
in  a  leathern  glove.  He  should  have  been  seen  facing 
the  wolves  that  were  driven  into  the  village  by  the 
snow,  or  at  the  fire  in  1859,  when  three  barns  were 
in  a  blaze  almost  at  the  same  time ;  the  whole  man 
seemed  completely  transformed.  His  face  assumed 
a  strange  expression  of  determination  and  courage 
when  confronting  danger;  he  threw  off  his  robe,  his 
eye  kindled,  his  voice  became  so  loud  and  sonorous 
that  he  might  have  been  taken  for  some  adventurous 
leader  charging  into  the  midst  of  the  melee,  and  his 
orders  were  obeyed  without  comment  or  hesitation. 


AHOUND  A  SPRING.  9 

Hf  himself  was  the  first  to  rush  forward,  raising  enor- 
mous beams,  and  using  his  axe  like  the  infuriated 
wood-cutter  in  the  ballad.  One  would  have  said 
that  danger  attracted  him,  and  he  took  delight  in 
wrestling  with  it.  Was  it  a  thirst  for  self-sacrifice, 
or  an  effort  to  pour  forth  in  a  single  burst  all  the  pent- 
up  fire  of  his  nature  ?  It  was  impossible  to  say ;  for 
the  danger  passed,  he  regained  his  customary  calm- 
ness and  re-assumed  his  every-day  manner,  accepting 
thanks  reluctantly,  repelling  praise,  and  ashamed  oi 
having  been  caught  in  flagrante  delictu  of  heroism. 
He  was  indeed  very  hard  to  understand,  and  ono 
might  almost  believe  there  were  two  natures  in  him. 
He  lived  simply  and  humbly,  but  with  a  steadfast, 
unvarying  purpose,  and  would  boldly  give  his  last 
sou  to  help  some  one  poorer  than  himself,  or  throw 
his  cloak  in  a  winter  night  over  some  beggar's  shiver- 
ing shoulders  with  the  greatest  joy  that  he  could 
render  the  poor  wretch  some  service;  but  his  pleas- 
ure was  equalled  by  pride  in  the  thought  that  he  was 
conquering  himself  and  disdaining  the  cold  feared  by 
so  many  others.  In  mid-winter  he  ventured  out  into 
the  deep  snows  with  as  much  eagerness  as  he  had 
shown  in  battling  with  the  conflagration,  and  when 
one  saw  him  returning,  holding  in  his  hand  an  im- 
mense staff  cut  in  the  forest,  with  his  robe  raised  to 
his  waist,  his  limbs  protected  by  huge  woollen  stock- 
ings, his  nostrils  reddened  by  the  cold,  dilated,  and 
quivering  as  he  inhaled  the  frozen  air,  his  game-bag 
on  his  back,  and  his  jaws  set,  he  had  a  noble  intrepidity 
of  expression  that  commanded  respect.  He  was 
held  in  high  esteem  for  his  strength,  skill,  and  charity, 
and  if  by  chance  any  difficulty  arose,  was  instantly 
sought  for,  as  in  all  circumstances  he  was  known  to 
be  morally  and  physically  a  solid  man  on  whom  one 
could  rely  ;  but  at  the  same  time,  his  parishioners  felt 
that  he  had  a  nature  which  \vas  not  akin  to  theirs,  and 
loved  him  with  reserve,  and  at  a  respectful  distance. 


10  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

Abbo  Roche  was  born  among  the  mountains,  but 
the  exact  place  from  whence  he  came  no  one  knew. 
Nursed  by  a  peasant  woman,  and  received  and  ed- 
ucated among  the  nuns,  he  had  naturally  passed  from 
their  hands  into  those  of  the  priest's,  who  had  soon  no- 
ticed his  keen  intellect  and  good  conduct.  He  had 
grown  up  among  these  surroundings,  the  authoriza- 
tion rendered  necessary  by  his  birth  was  obtained, 
not  without  difficulty,  and  one  day  he  entered  the 
seminary  without  either  distaste  or  enthusiasm,  as  a 
child  born  in  a  regiment  enlists  under  the  flag  that 
has  served  him  for  swaddling  clothes.  He  knew 
nothing  of  the  life  outside  the  vessel  that  had  received 
him ;  supposed  it  to  be  full  of  pitfalls  and  storms, 
and  was  glad  to  be  in  a  place  of  safety. 

The  years  spent  in  the  seminary  were  the  only 
ones  in  which  he  breathed  the  air  of  a  great  city, 
but  he  only  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  world  by  stealth 
and  with  a  thousand  scruples,  and  on  leaving  his 
adopted  family,  became  a  curate  in  a  poor  parish  in 
the  Landes,  where  he  i-emained  only  a  short  time. 
His  ecclesiastical  superiors  esteemed  him  highly;  his 
position  as  an  illegitimate  child,  which  had  been  a 
serious  obstacle  to  his  taking  orders,  was  now  a  claim 
to  the  especial  consideration  of  his  chiefs.  While  he 
was  still  very  young,  they  appointed  him  cur6  of 
Grand-Fort-le-Haut,  where  we  find  him,  after  a  resi- 
dence of  fifteen  years,  forgotten,  but  perfectly  con- 
tented. What  had  taken  place  in  his  heart  during 
this  long  period?  A  few  of  his  locks  had  grown  gray, 
his  eyes  were  sunken,  and  his  face  perhaps  retained 
some  trace  of  mental  struggle,  but  all  storms  seemed 
to  be  .forever  lulled  to  rest  in  the  calmness  of  a  regu- 
lar, simple,  and  busy  life. 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  11 


II. 

The  manor  of  the  counts  of  Manteigney,  of  which 
we  caught  a  glimpse  just  now  among  the  trees,  dates 
back  for  several  centuries.  Each  generation  had  ad- 
ded something,  left  some  trace  of  its  presence,  and  as 
the  site  was  rather  restricted  in  its  Limits,  the  result 
was  a  confused  pile  of  incongruous  buildings.  It  was 
here  that  for  centuries  the  lords  of  the  country  had 
held  their  powerful  sway.  Possessing  the  whole 
valley  as  far  as  the  market  town  of  Virez,  which  com- 
manded its  enti'ance,  masters  of  immense  forests, 
pasture  grounds,  and  estates  which  covered  the  side 
of  the  mountain,  they  had  always  considered  the  vil- 
lage of  Grand-Fort-le-Haut,  which  lay  at,  the  door  of 
their  dwelling,  as  a  dependence  of  the  chateau.  It 
was  then  a  mere  collection  of  huts  in  which  the  count's 
shepherds  and  wood-cutters  were  tolerably  well  lodg- 
ed under  the  protecting  care  of  their  master.  By  de- 
grees these  lew  huts  had  increased  in  importance, 
while  the  chateau  lost  its  authority,  until,  aided  by 
the  great  revolution,  all  active  life  concentrated  in 
the  village;  and  the  manor,  sombre,  ruined,  inert,  ap- 
peared to  be  utterly  defunct,  leaving  in  the  country 
only  the  memory  of  the  legends  connected  with  its 
ancient  stones,  and  a  sort  of  mysterious  reverence. 

Among  mountains,  memories  and  impressions  are 
most  tenacious.  Ideas  are  like  clouds;  they  settle 
and  lodge  in  crevices,  and  the  tempests  which  pass 
overhead  must  blow  a  long  time  ere  they  succeed  in 
uprooting  the  old  beliefs  which  rest  in  the  clefts  of 
the  rock.  Just  as  the  impulses  of  thought  give  a 
man  a  quicker  gait,  so  slowness  of  motion  entails 
dullness  of  mind.  There  is  a  remarkable  connection 
between  physical  and  mental  activity,  between  the 
manners  of  a  country  and  the  condition  of  its  roads. 
Birds,  which  move  so  swiftly,  ought  to  think  quickly 
also;  the  circulation  must  be  equally  rapid  in  ail 


J2  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

parts  of  their  organization.  They  say  that  imagina 
tion  has  wings.  I  like  to  fancy  that  everything  wing- 
ed possesses  imagination.  For  instance,  look  at  an 
ox  moving  along ;  must  not  ideas  be  tardy  in  form- 
ing within  him,  and  sensations  slowly  digested  in  the 
brain  of  the  worthy  beast,  which  is  supplied  with  four 
stomachs  ?  The  ox  is  conservative,  and  so  is  the 
mountaineer.  It  is  enough  to  see  the  latter  ascend- 
ing a  path  among  the  slippery  stones,  with  measured, 
regular  tread,  economical  of  strength,  and  lavish  of 
time,  to  understand  that  that  man  has  no  feverish 
brain.  The  snow  that  shrouds  the  country  for  five  or 
six  months  does  not  merely  imprison  plants  and  rocks 
in  its  hoary  mantle,  but  huts,  men's  ideas,  and  tradi- 
tions which  put  forth  the  strongest,  most  gnarled 
roots  in  this  interval  of  silence  and  concentration. 
Thus  in  these  regions  the  ideas  of  the  past  cling  to 
man  as  man  clings  to  the  earth,  and  the  old  moss- 
covered  pines  cleave  to  the  rocks. 

Hence  it  was  not  very  extraordinary  that  the 
chateau  of  Manteigney  should  have  retained  the  pres- 
tige of  former  days.  It  presented  an  imposing 
aspect,  spite  of  having  been  abandoned  for  twenty 
years.  True,  its  weather-cocks  were  on  the  point  of 
falling,  and  its  pointed  roofs  in  a  most  pitiable  con- 
dition under  their  veil  of  moss,  but  the  old  walls 
were  still  strong  enough  to  withstand  a  siege.  The 
most  ancient  portion  of  the  chateau  was  the  left-hand 
tower,  which  flanked  the  principal  entrance.  It  dat- 
ed from  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century  ;  and 
although  at  a  much  later  period  narrow  windows 
with  stone  mullions  had  been  inserted,  the  ground 
floor — a  lowr  hall  which  was  reached  by  two  well- 
worn  steps,  proved,  by  the  ogive  moulding  of  its 
ceiling  and  the  shape  of  its  huge  chimney-piece,  the 
correctness  of  the  date  just  mentioned. 

This  ground  floor  had  been  occupied  for  more 
than  twenty  years  by  pore  and  mere  Sappey,  to 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  13 

whom  the  cave  of  the  chateau  had  been  entrusted. 
They  lived  there  like  mountaineers ;  had  as  much  wood 
as  they  wanted,  the  whole  chestnut  harvest,  a  cow 
and  a  goat ;  Avhat  more  could  be  desired  ?  During 
the  first  few  years  after  they  were  installed,  they  oc- 
casionally aired  the  rooms,  swept  them  at  rare  inter- 
vals, and  dusted  a  few  articles  of  furniture ;  then  find- 
ing that  it  became  very  difficult  to  open  the  windows, 
their  consciences  readily  absolved  them  from  the 
duty,  and  the  spiders  took  up  their  abode  in  the  lofty 
rooms,  which  no  one  ever  entered. 

There  was,  however,  one  very  curious  portion 
that  was  occasionally  visited  when  some  tourist  or 
travelling  agent  wandered  to  Grand  Fort.  This  in- 
teresting out-of-the-way  corner,  was  the  upper  por- 
tion of  a  tower,  to  which  the  old  relics  from  the  arse- 
nal had  been  banished.  It  was  reached  by  a  little 
winding  staircase,  lighted  by  large  loop-holes,  through 
which  the  wind  whistled  with  a  doleful  sound.  The 
bats  and  screech  owls  fluttered  away  at  your  ap- 
proach, and  one  really  felt  relieved  of  a  great  weight 
when  once  fairly  out  of  the  narrow  space.  Then,  in 
the  midst  of  a  chaos  of  scattered  fragments,  might 
be  seen  two  culverins  belonging  to  the  former  counts, 
three  or  four  guns  which  had  been  mounted  on  the 
ramparts,  notched  sabres,  a  cresset  with  two  burners, 
postillion's  boots,  a  spear,  half  of  a  cuirass,  a  fragment 
of  a  helmet,  a  goodly  number  of  empty  bottles,  and 
one  of  those  huge,  broad-backed,  old-fashioned  arm- 
chairs formerly  universally  seen  in  our  ancestors' 
bedrooms,  but  now  discarded  by  modern  luxury. 

On  leaving  the  tower,  a  broad  terrace  extends  to 
the  left,  from  which  the  whole  valley  can  be  seen, 
and  upon  which  opened  in  former  days  the  wide  fold- 
ing doors  of  the  state  drawing-rooms,  and  the  pic- 
ture-gallery with  its  long  lines  of  plumed,  cuirassed, 
and  curled  chevaliers,  majestic  and  terrible  in  their 
worm-eaten  frames.  In  confronting  these  imposing 


14  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

highly-colored,  haughty,  and  determined  lords,  one 
would  need  to  have  a  very  firm  will  not  to  be  suffi- 
ciently awed  to  remove  one's  cap.  The  sight  of  such 
a  past,  still  triumphant  even  beneath  its  veil  of  dust, 
leads  one  to  think  of  the  present  and  the  future,  and 
one  would  ask  involuntarily  what  had  become  of  the 
heir,  the  young  Count,  Robert  Pierre  Jean  de  Man- 
teigney,  the  direct  descendant  of  these  haughty  lords, 
and  the  sole  hope  of  his  race  ?  It  was  known  that  he 
was  not  dead ;  and  the  imagination  pictured  him  as 
strong  and  vigorous  like  his  ancestors,  a  great  hunter, 
a  hard  drinker,  also,  gay  and  careless  in  his  bearing, 
bold,  intrepid,  and  perhaps  very  gallant  to  the  fair 
sex.  The  latter  was  one  of  the  characteristics  of  his 
family,  at  least  so  several  old  women  with  hooked 
noses  coquettishly  pretended  to  remember.  Numer- 
ous conjectures  had  been  made,  and  were  still  form- 
ed, concerning  the  young  count,  who  was  as  interest- 
ing as  an  enigma,  mysterious  as  a  legend.  Where 
did  he  live,  what  was  he  doing  ?  He  had  left  the  castle, 
with  tearful  eyes,  just  after  his  mother's  death,  when  a 
lad  about  ten  years  old,  and  had  never  returned. 

The  truth  was  that  the  orphan  was  found  to  be 
too  poor  to  make  a  good  figure  in  his  ancestral  home, 
and  also  receive  an  education  in  accordance  with 
his  rank;  therefore  a  portion  of  the  domain,  long 
since  shrunk  to  very  meagre  proportions,  was  sold, 
thus  obtaining  some  little  capital  with  which  he 
might  seek  his  fortune  elsewhere,  and  the  poor  child 
went  to  his  maternal  uncle's,  the  Marquis  de  Vernac, 
who  was  henceforth  to  supply  a  iather's  place. 

This  marquis,  who  lived  with  the  utmost  econo- 
my on  the  remnants  of  his  fortune,  was  a  very  pecu- 
liar person.  He  resided  in  Paris,  Rue  des  Lions- 
Saint-Paul,  on  the  second  floor,  looking  out  upon  the 
court-yard.  This  was  not  all;  he  was  excessively 
thin,  pale,  and  as  closely  shaven  as  a  Carthusian  friar. 
There  was  something  in  his  personal  appearance  sug- 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  15 

gestive  of  the  sacred  Ibis  of  the  Egyptians.  Why, 
how !  I  should  not  know  how  to  describe  it,  but 
there  was  a  resemblance.  A  perfect  gentleman  in 
every  respect,  one  felt  at  first  attracted  towards  him, 
but  on  perceiving  at  the  top  of  the  tall  figure  a 
microscopical  little  skull,  shining  and  polished  as  a 
billiard-ball,  one  wondered  where  the  poor  marquis 
kept  his  thoughts.  The  truth  is,  that  want  of  room 
had  always  prevented  his  obtaining  any  very  large 
store  of  them.  He  had  few  ideas,  for  he  always  used 
the  same  methodically  classed,  carefully  arranged, 
and  strung  one  after  another  like  the  beads  in  a  chap- 
let,  so  that  when  he  threw  off  his  night-cap  in  the 
morning,  he  began  his  first  pater  and  went  on  from 
ave  to  ave  until  evening  without  the  least  emotion  or 
fatigue  but  a  calm  conscience,  and  the  feeling  that  he 
had  done  his  duty  under  the  protection  of  the  laws 
and  the  eye  of  God. 

He  was,  in  truth,  the  last  person  in  the  world  to 
need  a  description,  had  it  not  been  for  his  resem- 
blance to  the  sacred  bird,  and  an  unfortunate  mania 
for  rearing  pheasants  in  his  dressing-room,  which  gave 
him  some  little  individuality.  When  Count  Jean 
reached  Paris,  the  marquis  was  electrified  by  the 
thought  that  he  was  to  occupy  a  father's  place  to  the 
last  of  the  Manteigneys.  The  old  gentleman,  clad  in 
his  sky-blue  coat  and  nankeen  pantaloons,  visited  every 
college  in  Paris,  and  at  last,  worn  out  by  these  expe- 
ditions and  anxieties,  which  disturbed  his  usual  mode 
of  life,  placed  his  nephew  at  the  College  Saint  Louis, 
in  memory  of  the  crusades.  It  was  quite  time,  his 
head  was  bursting !  Thenceforward,  his  task  complet- 
ed, the  thought  of  the  lad's  education  was  like  anoth- 
er bead  to  the  chaplet  in  the  marquis's  cranium,  and 
every  day,  at  a  certain  hour,  he  fell  into  the  habit  of 
saying :  "  Thanks  to  my  truly  paternal  solicitude,  my 
nephew,  Robert  Pierre  Jean,  is  receiving  an  excellent 


16  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

education  under  the  patronage  of  the  best  of  kings, 
Louis  IX.,  surnamed  St.  Louis.  1215." 

The  marquis's  surroundings  were  not  such  as  to 
excite  the  imagination  of  young  de  Manteigney,  or 
make  him  dream  of  any  thing  beyond  his  quiet  life; 
on  the  contrary,  a  Sunday  spent  in  the  Rue  des  Lions- 
Saint  Paul  was  sufficient  to  make  the  collegian  joyous 
for  a  week.  The  class-rooms  appeared  to  him  to  be 
comfortable,  sweet  and  clean;  the  court-yards,  where 
their  leisure  hours  were  spent,  green  and  airy,  in  short, 
he  thought  it  a  model  school ;  but  when  the  first 
down  of  his  mustaches  began  to  darken  his  lip,  his 
mind  became  burdened  with  a  heavy  sorrow.  Tho 
change  was  a  rapid  one.  He  had  suddenly  remem- 
bered that  he  was  a  count;  he  saw  again,  as  if  in  a 
dream,  the  picture  gallery  at  Manteigney,  hung  with 
the  portraits  of  his  ancestors ;  the  plumes,  the  glitter- 
ing breast-plates  and  magnificent  wigs,  began  to 
whirl  through  his  brain,  and  as  he  thought  of  his 
schoolmates,  principally  the  sons  of  merchants  and 
petty  shopkeepers,  he  felt  heart-broken.  The  idea  that 
he  Avas  to  take  his  bachelor's  degree  on  equal  terms 
with  this  herd,  made  the  blood  mount  to  his  brow ; 
the  uniform,  a  livery  he  had  worn  for  seven  or  eight 
years  without  thinking  of  complaint,  now  seemed  un- 
endurable, and  he  felt  an  intense  desire  to  shake  off 
these  surroundings,  and  attest  his  noble  birth  by  out- 
ward signs  ;  which  was,  in  truth,  a  most  natural  feel- 
ing. 

Doubtless  he  succeeded  in  borroAving  money  on 
the  fortune  which  Avas  soon  to  come  into  his  posses- 
sion ;  for  one  fine  morning  he  appeared  before  his 
uncle  in  a  Avhite  A'est  and  brown  pantaloons,  armed 
with  a  gold  -  headed  SAvitch,  curled,  perfumed,  and 
most  elegantly  attired.  Upon  this  the  marquis,  tak- 
ing it  for  granted  that  his  nepheAv's  education  Avas 
fully  completed,  thanked  Heaven,  embraced  the 
young  man,  slipped  .a  note  for  five  hundred  fraiu-3 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  17 

into  his  vest  pocket  to  assist  him  on  his  entrance  into 
society,  and  gave  him  his  blessing. 

During  the  following  year,  the  last  of  the  de  Man- 
teigney's  became  totally  transformed  ;  he  was  seen  at 
the  races  and  the  theatre,  entered  the  ranks  of  those 
amiable  youths  who  are  met  Avith  everywhere,  fre- 
quented riding  and  fencing  schools,  became  an  habitue 
of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  gave  rise  to  various  gossip- 
ing tales,  and  to  complete  his  reputation  as  a  man 
of  fashion,  began  to  seek  for  a  mistress.  Once  em- 
barked on  this  course,  he  commenced  to  drain  heavi- 
ly on  his  property,  and  opened  the  campaign  with 
the  little  fortune  of  which  he  became  absolute  master 
on  attaining  his  twenty-first  year.  Thus  the  last  frag- 
ment of  the  old  domain  was  squandered,  and  if  to 
this  be  added  the  modest  estate  of  the  Marquis  do 
Vernac,  who  died  one  morning  as  he  was  giving  his 
pheasants  their  breakfast,  the  extreme  skill  with 
which  the  youth  manoeuvred,  and  the  tact  and  pru- 
dence he  displayed  in  the  difficult  art  of  aristocratic 
living,  his  mode  of  life  will  be  understood,  as  well  as 
the  reputation  of  being  a  thorough  leader  of  fashion 
which  he  so  long  enjoyed  among  the  brilliant  circle 
in  which  he  moved. 


III. 

But  none  of  Count  Jean's  exploits  had  ever  reach- 
ed  Grand  Forte,  and  the  mountaineers,  although  de- 
prived of  the  presence  of  their  lord,  had  lived  in 
peace  for  twenty  years  under  the  shadow  of  the  old 
chateau,  when  suddenly  a  report  well  calculated  to  ex- 
cite curiosity,  spread  through  the  valley.  If  public  ru- 
mor was  to  be  believed,  the  last  of  the  de  Manteigneys, 
whom  all  the  men  of  fifty  remembered  having  seen 
when  a  child,  had  just  made  an  extremely  wealthy 
marriage  in  Paris,  and  was  preparing  to  return  to  hia 
2 


18  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

ancestral  home  in  triumph.  Already  strangers  had 
been  seen  wandering  through  the  valley  and  visiting 
the  village.  A  benediction,  a  heavenly  dew,  a  gold- 
en rain  was  about  to  fall.  The  chateau  was  to  be 
repaired  and  splendidly  furnished  ;  all  the  estates  be- 
longing to  the  domain  were  to  be  purchased,  and  it 
would  soon  be  restored  to  its  original  dimensions. 
All  this  must  be  true ;  for  the  notary  from  Virez, 
dressed  in  a  white  cravat  and  red  as  a  turkey  cock, 
had  been  seen  in  twenty  places  at  once,  and  had  even 
been  galloping  through  the  fields,  an  event  hitherto 
unprecedented. 

While  these  interesting  pieces  of  news  were  in 
circulation,  commented  and  enlarged  \ipon  by  every 
one,  an  architect  arrived;  the  doors  and  windows 
were  thrown  open,  and  the  workmen  began  their 
task.  Soon  nothing  was  spoken  of  in  the  mountains 
but  the  count  and  countess,  the  splendor  of  their  sur- 
roundings, and  the  wonderful  improvements  of  which 
the  chateau  was  to  be  the  object.  The  noble  couple 
must  have  been  in  haste,  for  the  work  was  pushed  on 
with  the  greatest  eagerness.  An  army  of  laborers, 
hired  in  the  neighborhood,  plied  pickaxe  and  shovel 
day  and  night  to  make  the  horrible  road  that  was 
mentioned,  passable.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen  but 
slaters,  suspended  by  ropes  from  the  roof,  painters 
busily  occupied  with  the  window-sashes  and  railings, 
gardeners  arranging  the  flowei'-beds  on  the  lawn,  car- 
penters and  joiners  repairing  the  stables.  Every  day 
huge  carts  drawn  by  four  oxen  came  into  the  court- 
yard, and  large  crimson  arm-chairs,  with  gilt  feet,  up- 
holstery hangings,  and  hosts  of  beautiful  things  were 
unpacked.  At  the  end  of  a  few  months  the  chateau 
was  placed  in  a  suitable  condition  to  receive  its  mas- 
ter, and  the  people  of  Grand  Fort  were  thinking  of 
preparing  a  reception  for  the  count  and  countess 
equal  to  the  grandeur  of  the  occasion.  Already  a 
triumphal  arch,  fireworks,  speeches,  and  baskets  of 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  19 

flowers  were  discussed,  but  the  arrival  of  a  letter  de- 
stroyed all  their  magnificent  plans. 

M.  de  Mauteigney  expressed,  in  a  few  words,  a 
very  decided  preference  for  entering  his  chateau 
without  any  flourish  of  trumpets,  as  if  he  had  left 
it  only  the  day  before.  To  be  doubly  certain,  he  re- 
fused to  mention  the  time  of  his  intended  arrival. 
Whenever  that  was  to  be,  a  vanguard  of  servants  in 
red  small-clothes  and  gold-laced  caps  now  took  pos- 
session of  their  own  quarters,  the  stables  were  filled, 
and  the  old  kitchen  chimney  sent  forth  a  noble  vol- 
ume of  smoke.  The  excited  villagers  and  their  agi- 
tated mayor  waited  all  one  week,  then  a  second  pass- 
ed away,  and  wearied  by  the  delay,  each  resumed  his 
usual  occupations.  On  Sunday  evening  after  vespers, 
the  lovers  of  bowl-playing — and  they  are  passionate- 
ly fond  of  it  in  those  regions — who  usually  joined  the 
cure,  having  assembled  under  the  great  trees  in  the 
enclosure,  Abbe  Roche  unbuttoned  the  lower  part 
of  his  cassock,  seized  his  two  balls,  and  the  game  be- 
gan. It  had  continued  about  half  an  hour,  Avhen  the 
cure,  returning  after  a  splendid  hit,  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  a  singular  little  personage,  Avho  had 
just  entered  the  enclosure  unseen  by  the  players. 

This  puny  little  man,  with  narrow,  sloping  shoul- 
ders, was  dressed  from  head  to  foot  in  white  flan- 
nel trimmed  with  blue  braid.  His  long,  thin  neck, 
rose  from  a  turned-down,  yellowish  shirt-collar,  whose 
points  were  adorned  with  dogs'  heads.  A  pink  and 
blue  cravat  was  knotted  under  it,  and  among  its  folds 
glittered  a  gold  scarf-pin,  the  design  of  which  repre- 
sented a  horse's  saddle  and  two  dangling  stirrups. 
His  pants  were  extremely  tight,  and  fitted  closely  over 
his  microscopical  boots  with  their  very  high  heels,  cov- 
ered with  sky-blue  cloth,  ornamented  with  large  pearl 
buttons,  and  embroidered  with  wonderful  skill,  stitch- 
ed, embossed — they  were  certainly  jewels  of  boots. 
Two  locks  of  curled  red  hair  fell  below  the  hat, 


20  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

which  shaded  a  weary,  worn,  sallow  face,  furrowed 
by  the  sickly  wrinkles  which  are  not  caused  by  old 
age.  Add  to  the  picture  a  pair  of  red  mustaches 
coquettishly  twisted  at  the  ends,  and  gloves,  the  col- 
or of  blood,  thrust  halfway  into  one  of  his  pockets. 

Standing  proudly  with  his  legs  stretched  very  far 
apart,  the  little  man  held  a  wonderfully  tiny  cigar- 
case  of  Java  straw  in  his  white,  well-kept  hands,  and 
by  dint  of  making  a  most  hideous  face,  kept  a  square 
eye-glass  without  setting  or  cord  in  one  eye,  and 
looking  smilingly  at  the  good  cure,  who  was  gazing 
at  him  in  astonishment,  said  :  "  The  deuce  take  it, 
but  you  have  a  strong  wrist,  Monsieur  le  cur6.  You 
certainly  hurled  that  well !  " 

Abb6  Roche  felt  the  flush  that  mounted  to  his 
very  temples,  and  finding  no  answer  for  the  moment, 
allowed  his  grave,  searching  glance  to  wander  over 
this  singular  person,  who  still  smiled  with  the  most 
perfect  indifference.  The  other  players  had  stopped 
in  amazement. 

"  Go  on  with  your  game,  this  is  Sunday,  I  believe  ! 
Your  roads  are  in  a  pitiful  condition,"  continued  the 
person  in  white  flannel,  looking  at  his  precious  boots, 
which  were  slightly  soiled,  after  which  he  placed  a 
cigarette  between  his  lips,  took  a  little  silver-gilt  tin- 
der box  from  his  pocket,  and  carefully  arranged  the 
red  wick  with  as  little  embarrassment  as  if  he  had 
been  alone  in  his  sleeping-room. 

"  Do  you  belong  to  this  part  of  the  country,  sir  ?  " 
asked  the  cure,  who  began  to  be  somewhat  irritated 
by  this  excessive  self-possession. 

The  smoker  slowly  lighted  his  cigar,  turning  it 
between  his  thumb  and  finger,  then  having  poured 
forth  a  huge  cloud  of  smoke  through  his  nostrils,  re- 
plied, with  the  most  perfect  sangfroid  :  "  Yes,  I  live 
in  the  chateau  yonder  on  the  right,  about  ten  minutes 
walk  from  here." 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  21 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  are  Count  Jean  de  Man- 
teigney  ? " 

"Jean  de  Manteigney,  as  you  say.  Then  you 
know  me  ? " 

"  Excuse  me,  M.  le  comte,  I — " 

And  so  saving  the  cur6  dropped  the  ball  he  was 
holding,  while  all  the  mountaineers  bared  their  heads 
as  if  at  church.  "  Excuse  you  for  what  ?  "  rejoined 
the  count,  "  pray  continue  your  game,  my  dear  cure, 
I  am  no  spoil-sport !  "  And  he  pushed  back  his  little 
hat  with  a  gesture  both  patronizing  and  familiar,  care- 
lessly thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  began  to 
hum,  still  smoking  and  balancing  himself  on  his  heels. 
"  Tell  them  to  go  on,  my  dear  cure.  I  like  to  see 
these  honest  fellows  play.  There  is  a  splendid  look- 
ing one,  he  has  the  strength  of  a  bull.  And  then 
they  are  all  looking  at  me — it  is  impertinent." 

"  Come,  Bernard,  it  is  your  turn  to  play,"  said  the 
Abbe,  and  then  added :  "  Is  it  long  since  you  arrived, 
M.  le  comte  ?  " 

"  Only  three  or  four  hours,  and  I  began  by  taking 
a  walk  in  this  direction.  I  like  the  country  very 
much,  it  is  pleasant  and  pretty.  And  the  wine,  how 
is  the  wine  ?  Do  the  vines  promise  a  good  harvest  ? 
Faith  !  that  is  an  important  matter." 

"  Yes,  M.  le  comte.     Just  now  the — " 

"  Ah  !  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it.  People  ought 
to  remember  that  wine  is  the  traveller's  staff  and  the 
old  man's  milk.  Stop,  there  is  that  young  bull  throw- 
ing his  ball.  A  fine  fellow !  How  old  is  he  ?  " 

"  Twenty,  at  most." 

"  It  is  wonderful.  And  the  chestnuts,  my  dear 
cure,  what  about  the  chestnuts  V  " 

"  They  will  be  very  plentiful,"  replied  the  cure, 
biting  his  lips. 

"  That  is  capital ;  better  and  better.  Chestnuts 
are  not  to  be  despised  !  It  is  your  turn  to  play,  cure." 

Abbe  Roche    took   his   position    carefully,   and 


22  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

hurled  the  ball,  but,  a  most  unusual  thing  with  him, 
missed  his  aim.  He  was  confused  by  the  gaze  of 
that  grey  eye  twinkling  behind  its  tiny  glass ;  and 
the  careless  ease  with  which  the  little  man  addressed 
him  redoubled  his  embarrassment. 

"  Ah !  you  have  missed  your  stroke,  my  dear  cure." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  priest,  who  was  holding  his 
second  ball  in  his  hand,  and  saw  no  cause  for  muling. 

"  That  is  unlucky.  Ah !  I  was  forgetting  to  tell 
you  that  the  countess  talks  of  nothing  but  you— she 
is  really  wild  to  see  you.  It  is,  '  My  cure  !  where  is 
my  cur6  ? ' — You  are  expected." 

"  I  will  pay  my  respects  to  the  countess  to-mor- 
row." 

"This  evening,  if  you  like.  You  will  be  welcome 
whenever  you  come  ;  for  my  part,  I  don't  like  cere- 
mony. You  see  lam  perfectly  frank.  Farewell, 
don't  trouble  yourself  to  attend  me  to  the  gate." 

And,  as  a  child  finding  himself  in  the  way,  stared 
at  him  with  wide  open  eyes,  he  exclaimed  :  "  What 
are  you  doing  there,  little  rogue,  instead  of  going  to 
school  ?  Ah !  to-day  is  Sunday  !  Stop,  here  is  some- 
thing to  buy  gingerbread,"  and  tossing  two  or  three 
silver  coins  into  the  little  one's  lap,  he  went  away 
whistling. 

When  he  was  fairly  out  of  sight,  all  the  mountain- 
eers looked  at  each  other  as  people  -gaze  after  some 
accident  has  happened.  This  was  evidently  not  the 
count  they  had  expected.  It  seemed  to  them  utterly 
impossible  that  this  little,  thin,  puny  man,  with  his 
scanty  reddish  mustaches,  could  be  the  true  lord  of 
the  chateau;  the  rightful  descendant  of  the  rude 
counts  of  former  days.  In  regions  where  every  one 
toils  and  struggles,  physical  weakness  easily  passes 
for  infirmity,  and  a  sickly  appearance  is  considered 
something  worthy  of  ridicule.  As  to  the  cure — was 
it  on  account  of  his  herculean  frame  ? — He  had  never 
found  any  thing  but  compassion  in  his  heart  for  frail 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  23 

bodies  and  pallid  faces.  Good  Christian  as  he  was  in 
other  respects,  certain  familiarities  annoyed  him  ex- 
tremely;  he  felt  at  such  times  as  if  a  tempest  were 
raging  within  him,  and  if  any  one  had  ever  dealt  him 
a  blow,  it  is  very  probable  that  the  person  would  have 
been  instantly  knocked  down ;  never  would  he  have 
dreamed  of  turning  the  other  cheek. 

Besides  being  personally  wounded  by  the  count's 
manners,  they  had  rudely  dispelled  his  illusions ; 
Abbe  Roche  had  always  respected  the  nobility,  not 
because  he  believed  that  moral  virtue  and  physical 
beauty  were  the  exclusive  heritage  of  a  certain  class 
of  men;  but  there  was  something  of  the  poet  and 
artist  within  him,  and  he  found  it  consoling  to  think 
that  there  were  certain  families,  ennobled  by  time 
and  placed  above  all  ambition  and  poverty,  who  were 
the  depositaries  and  guardians  of  certain  special  vir- 
tues, lie  did  not  reason  upon  these  ideas,  but  be- 
lieved in  them  instinctively,  and  enjoyed  them. 

IV. 

It  was  not  without  a  certain  degree  of  embarrass- 
ment that  our  cur6  prepared  to  visit  the  chateau  the 
following  day.  He  spread  out  on  his  narrow  bed  his 
Sunday  cassock  and  a  new  band,  and  looked  at  the 
big  silver  watch  destitute  of  chain  and  key,  which  he 
always  carried  in  his  pocket. 

He  did  not  wish  to  reach  Manteigney  until  after 
dinner,  in  order  to  avoid  the  invitation  they  would 
have  been  sure  to  give  him,  and  which  he  greatly 
dreaded.  He  remembered  how  he  had  been  wound- 
ed by  the  count's  words:  "  Once  for  all,  my  dear 
cur<§,  there  is  a  seat  at  table  for  you."  That  was  not 
the  only  sentence  which  recurred  to  his  mind  as  a 
disagreeable  recollection.  "  The  countess  is  wild  to 
see  you.  My  cure — where  is  my  cure  ? "  Surely 
there  Avas  no  reason  that  this  great  lady  should  be  so 


24  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

extremely  anxious  to  make  his  acquaintance.  Per- 
haps she  expected  to  find  this  cure,  who  had  never 
left  his  mountains,  a  half  savage,  a  boor,  who  had  not 
a  word  to  say,  and  doubtless  wished  to  amuse  her- 
self at  his  expense.  What  other  explanation  could 
be  given  to  words  which  bordered  upon  impertinence, 
"  My  cur6  !  where  is  my  cur6  ?  " 

While  carefully  shaving  himself,  a  multitude  of 
thoughts  passed  through  his  brain,  and  he  became  so 
vexed  at  his  own  agitation  that  he  was  on  the  point 
of  putting  on  his  old  cassock,  merely  as  a  protest 
against  the  weakness.  He  was  thoroughly  ashamed ; 
yet  at  the  same  time  thought  of  the  hour.  "  They 
must  dine  at  five  or  half-past ;  it  is  more  than  proba- 
ble, because  the  mayor  and  notary  of  Virez  have  din- 
ner at  that  hour.  Now  by  arriving  at  half-past  six  I 
shall  find  them,  in  the  drawing-room,  or  else  walking 
on  the  lawn — or  perhaps  sitting  in  a  group — sitting 
in  a  group !  " 

And  this  Hercules,  who  would  not  have  trembled 
if  a  bear  had  stood  in  his  path,  shivered  at  the  thought 
of  all  those  eyes  bent  upon  him.  How  would  they 
receive  him,  how  could  he  endure  the  curious,  mock- 
ing gaze  of  the  countess,  when  she  should  at  last  see 
the  cure  of  her  dreams  ? 

At  that  moment  some  one  knocked  at  the  door. 

"  Who  is  there  ? "  said  the  priest,  without  turn- 
ing. 

"  Tell  me,  M.  le  cure,"  replied  mere  Hilaire  from 
the  next  room,  "  are  you  going  to  wear  your  silver 
buckles?" 

"  Why  should  I  ?     Is  to-day  Easter  ?  " 

"  Bless  me,  you  can  do  as  you  like,  M.  le  cur6,  but 
I  would  wear  them  if  I  were  in  your  place.  Nobles 
are  accustomed  to  have  people  spruce  up  a  little 
when  they  go  to  visit  them." 

"  Well,  do  as  you  please." 


AROUND  A  SPEING.  25 

"  Have  I  vexed  yon,  M.  le  cur6  ?  "  said  the  good 
eld  woman  timidly  from  behind  the  door. 

"  No,  my  good  mother.  Get  the  buckles  ready, 
get  them  ready,  if  yon  think  it  best :  but  make  haste." 

This  mere  Hilaire  was  a  little,  plump  old  woman 
with  very  bright  eyes,  quick,  active,  energetic,  trotting 
about  with  little  short  steps,  rummaging,  searching 
everywhere,  and  adoring  her  cure".  She  lived  in  the 
next  house,  but  was  very  rarely  found  there,  so  busy 
was  she  in  taking  care  of  the  priest's  dwelling,  pre- 
paring his  meals,  mending  his  linen,  and  putting  patch- 
es into  his  cassocks  when  they  needed  it,  which  was 
very  often.  She  worked  with  so  much  skill  and  pa- 
tience, tenderness  one  might  almost  call  it,  that  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  see  the  traces  of  her  labor,  and 
Abbe  Roche  had  never  perceived  them.  She  did  not 
wish  any  one  to  be  able  to  say:  "Monsieur  Le  cur6 
wears  patched  cassocks."  People  can  have  self-re- 
spect, if  they  are  not  rich.  She  also  kept  the  accounts 
for  the  priest,  who  paid  no  attention  to  them,  and 
merely  took  his  money  without  looking  to  see  how 
much  remained  in  the  little  drawer,  into  which,  more 
than  once,  the  good  old  woman  had  slipped  two  or 
three  of  her  one-crown  pieces,  without  any  one's 
being  the  wiser.  Yet  she  had  a  warm  affection  for 
her  poor  crowns ;  but  the  most  important  matter  was 
that  M.  le  cure  should  not  be  restricted  in  his  alms- 
giving, and  that  no  poor  people  could  say  that  they 
had  knocked  at  his  door  and  been  sent  away  with 
empty  hands. 

Mere  Hilaire's  affection  for  Abbe  Roche,  and  the 
familiarity  with  which  she  addressed  him,  may  be  ex- 
plained in  a  few  words  :  the  old  peasant  woman  had 
been  the  nurse  of  the  foundling  who  afterwards  be- 
came cur6  of  Grand  Fort.  She  had  filled  a  mother's 
place  to  him;  and  when  he  left  her  to  be  under  the 
charge  of  the  nuns,  wept  almost  as  bitterly  as  if  her 
own  child  had  been  taken  away.  Other  griefs,  still 


26  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

heavier  than  that,  had  afterwards  afflicted  the  good 
woman:  she  lost  her  only  son,  and  five  years  after, 
her  husband  was  killed  by  the  fall  of  a  pine  tree  which 
he  was  in  the  act  of  felling.  She  was  thus  left  alone 
in  her  old  age,  in  the  tiny  house  at  Virez  where  she 
had  always  had  the  society  of  her  family ;  she  had 
striven  to  endure  her  solitude,  and  had  borne  her  fate 
for  several  years ;  but  when  she  learned  that  the  only 
being  that  was  left  to  her,  the  child  of  her  adoption, 
was  settled  as  our6  three  leagues  from  Virez,  at  the 
other  end  of  the  valley,  she  quickly  set  out  for  Grand 
Fort,  saying  to  herself:  "  I  shall  not  die  alone,  one  of 
the  three  who  were  lost  to  me  is  restored."  She  pic- 
tured him  as  the  child  whom  she  had  seen  in  former 
days,  playing  before  the  house  and  dabbling  in  the 
mud  with  the  ducks,  or  as  the  tall  stalwart  youth  who 
had  met  her  when  she  went  to  visit  him  before  he 
entered  the  seminary.  She  hastened  to  Grand  Fort, 
agitated  by  these  recollections,  but  Avhen,  having 
knocked  at  the  door,  she  found  herself  face  to  face 
with  a  full  grown  man  of  grave  demeanor  and  seri- 
ous expression,  she  stood  still  in  amazement,  knew 
not  what  to  say,  and  felt  the  tears  rushing  into  her 
eyes.  Her  dream  had  vanished,  her  milk  pail  was 
dashed  into  a  thousand  pieces.  Yet  she  could  trace 
the  features  of  the  child  and  youth  in  the  austere 
countenance  of  the  priest;  there  was  the  thin,  promi- 
nent nose,  broad  noble  forehead,  and  kind,  frank 
glance.  She  recognized  them  all,  and  said  to  herself: 
"  If  he  would  only  smile,  I  should  see  the  little  dim- 
ple near  his  mouth — I  am  sure  it  is  still  there." 

But  he  did  not  smile,  did  not  even  recognize  her, 
for  the  old  woman  had  been  terribly  changed  by  grief. 
After  an  instant's  pause,  she  made  a  great  effort  anil 
said: 

"  I  am  mere  Hilaire,  Monsieur  le  cur6 ;  mere  Hi- 
laire  from  Virez." 

Ah!  there  was  no  hesitation!      She  felt  her  elf 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  27 

suddenly  raised  from  the  ground  and  clasped  so  close- 
ly that  she  could  scarcely  breathe,  and  murmured : 
"Monsieur — Monsieur  le  cure!  you  will  —  you  will 
crush  me,  my  boy." 

And  Abb6  Roche,  kissing  her  on  the  forehead, 
said  softly  : 

"  Dear,  dear  mother,  is  it  really  you  ?  Oh !  my 
dear  good  mother !  " 

He  no  longer  looked  grave ;  great  hot  tears  flowed 
from  his  eyes,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  he  was  smil- 
ing so  happily  that  the  little  round  dimple  in  his  cheek 
appeared  once  more,  to  the  great  delight  of  the  good 
woman. 

"  And  what  brings  you  here,  m6re  Hilaire  ?  "  said 
the  abb6  after  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Well !  Monsieur  le  cure,  it  was  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  you,  and  then, — it  is  stupid,  I  know,  but  I 
dare  not  say  more ! — I  must  tell  you  that  God  has 
left  me  all  alone ;  my  boy  is  dead,  and  my  husband 
was  killed  by  a  pine  tree  that  fell  and  crushed  him  ten 
years  ago  on  the  eve  of  Saint  John.  You  did  not 
know  that,  Monsieur  le  cure  ?  " 

"  Why  no,  no.     What  a  sad  misfortune  !  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  it  is  terrible  !  You  do  not  remem- 
ber when  pore  Hilaire  used  to  take  you  to  gather  fag- 
gots, and  the  tricks  you  played  upon  him.  Excuse 
me,  Monsieur  le  cure,  I  am  talking  of  things  that 
happened  so  long  ago.1' 

"  Go  on,  my  friend,  you  see  that  I  like  to  listen." 

"  Since  that  time  I  have  had  no  one ;  but  the  good 
God  has  restored  you  to  me  !  Well,  I  said  to  myself: 
He  has  no  one — and — and  people  who  are  all  alone — • 
it  is  natural — sometimes  take  pleasure  in  living  to- 
gether— and  then,  if  Monsieur  le  cure  had  no  serv- 
ant, I—" 

Abb6  Roche  looked  at  the  peasant  with  an  ex- 
pression of  such  deep  emotion  that  she  cast  down  her 
eyes. 


28  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

"  Then  you  love  me  ?  "  asked  Abb6  Roche. 

"  Have  I  not  nursed  thee,  tell  me ;  have  I  not 
brought  thee  up  ?  Do  I  love  him  ?  It  makes  no  dif- 
ference if  thou  art  cure,  and  a  strong  man,  and  much 
nearer  God  than  I,  of  course  thou  art  still  my  boy. 
You  must  not  mind  my  talking,  Monsieur  le  cure,  I 
cannot  help  it ;  I  do  not  know  how  to  express  myself 
very  well,  I  keep  saying  thou.  Oh,  dear !  I  have 
called  him  thou !  but  I  will  take  great  care  in  future." 

"  Speak  to  me  as  you  have  always  done,  I  entreat 
you." 

She  suddenly  burst  into  tears,  and  clasping  her 
hands,  exclaimed :  "  Oh  !  Lord,  is  he  not  kind,  and 
not  at  all  proud.  Well,  Monsieur  le  cure,  it  shall 
only  be  when  there  is  nobody  here,  and  we  are  all 
alone  in  a  family  circle,  because  now  only  we  two  rel- 
atives are  left.  Ah,  no  !  he  is  not  proud." 

She  said  all  this  rapidly,  with  deep  emotion,  stop- 
ping in  the  middle  of  her  sentences  to  take  breath. 
"  But  when  anybody  is  present,  we  will  no  longer  be 
relatives.  He  must  kee^  his  station,  that  is  only  right ; 
and  when  they  are  gone,  ah !  indeed,  then  I  will  say : 
'  thou ' — when  you  like,  Monsieur  le  cure,  but  if  ever 
you  are  disturbed  by  it,  you  shall  say :  '  Hush,  mere 
Hilaire,'  and  I  will  be  silent ;  it  will  not  vex  me  in 
the  least,  my  boy,  my  son.  I  have  nobody  in  the 
world  but  you !  Let  me  kiss  your  dear,  beautiful 
hands.  Heavens,  what  a  strong  man  !  and  how  good 
he  must  be,  not  to  show  me  to  the  door  after  talking 
to  him  in  such  a  way.  A  cure  !  my  boy  a  cure  !  " 

Abbe  Roche  understood  the  loving  delicacy  of  the 
good  woman's  words,  in  thus  constantly  alluding  to 
the  imaginary  ties  of  relationship  which  united  her  to 
him.  The  poor  man  experienced  a  most  tender  emo- 
tion, all  the  more  profound  because,  while  recalling 
certain  private  sorrows  of  which  he  had  never  com- 
plained, she  applied  the  most  efficacious  of  all  reme- 
dies; but  his  vigorous  nature  rarely  gave  way  to 


AROUND  A   SPUING.  29 

tears,  and  the  sobs  died  away  in  his  throat,  rising1  and 
falling  like  the  bubbles  of  air  on  the  surface  of  water. 

"  Now,  Monsieur  le  cure,"  continued  the  old 
woman,  whose  face  was  radiant  with  delight,  "your 
house  is  very  convenient,  but  it  must  be  set  in  order, 
and  you  have  no  time  to  see  to  it.  You  must  have 
curtains  at  the  windows,  and  who  will  put  them  up  ? 
Well,  and  the  clothes  to  wash,  and  everything  to  be 
taken  care  of,  and  the  soup  to  be  made.  You  will 
say  that  you  are  going  to  have  a  servant;  that  is  all 
very  well.  But  servant-maids  are  an  article  in  which 
there  is  great  choice — a  very  great  choice  :  one  breaks 
everything,  another  does  not  know  how  to  do  any- 
thing, and  a  third  asks  for  forty  crowns  as  one  would 
ask  for  a  glass  of  water.  This  is  not  all ;  you  must 
not  have  a  very  young  person.  It  is  all  nonsense  to 
(•ay  that  God  does  not  interfere  in  these  matters,  and 
that  He  has  nothing  to  do  with  what  goes  on  here  be- 
low. In  short, this  is  enough;  you,  Monsieur  le  cure, 
do  not  want  a  young  girl.  I  have  been  thinking  over 
the  pros  and  cons  of  the  matter  before  I  came,  and  I 
don't  believe  you  could  find  any  one  who  would  suit 
you  as  well  as  I.  Besides,  there  is  another  thing 
about  it,  I  don't  ask  anything,  but  give  my  services ; 
I  have  a  little  competence,  and  have  no  need  of  the 
forty  crowns  you  would  pay  another  person,  so  we 
save  that  much.  I  am  an  old  woman  ;  it  will  amuse 
me  and  occupy  my  mind  to  take  care  of  the  house ; 
I  will  sell  my  property  at  Virez,  and  buy  a  little  cot- 
tage close  by  you,  with  a  bit  of  a  garden  and  a  small 
shed  for  my  donkey — and  then  I  shall  be  sure  of  dy- 
ing near  you,  Monsieur  le  cure." 

Thus  mere  Hilaire  became  the  abbe  Roche's  house- 
keeper ;  and  the  reason  she  just  urged  him  so  perse- 
veringly  to  wear  the  silver  buckles,  was  because  she 
had  given  them  to  her  cur6  on  the  tenth  anniversary 
of  her  coming  to  his  house. 


30  AROUND  A  SPRING. 


V. 

When  he  had  completed  his  toilet,  the  cur6  of 
Grand  Fort  set  out  on  his  way  to  the  chateau.  The 
sun,  already  low  in  the  heavens,  was  glittering  on  the 
icy  peaks,  outlined  against  the  horizon  like  airy  fes- 
toons of  silver  lace.  For  the  first  time  in  many  years, 
he  passed  on  without  even  casting  a  glance  upon  the 
majestic  scenery.  The  door  of  the  chateau  stood 
open.  The  priest,  having  entered  its  arched  portal, 
stopped  for  an  instant  at  the  room  occupied  by  pere 
and  mfere  Sappey,  by  no  means  sorry  to  delay  his 
visit  a  few  moments.  The  two  old  people  were  in 
gala  dress,  sitting  side  by  side  in  one  corner  of  the 
apartment  on  an  old  bench,  blackened  by  use.  It  was 
the  only  piece  of  their  old-fashioned  country  furni- 
ture that  still  remained.  The  ground  floor  of  the  old 
tower  was  wholly  changed  in  appearance,  and  now 
resembled  the  lodge  of  a  well-trained  concierge.  It 
contained  two  large  arm-chairs  of  grayish  wood  in 
the  Louis  XVI.  style,  covered  with  lemon-colored 
Utrecht  velvet.  A  square  mat  was  carefully  placed 
before  each  seat.  The  mountaineer's  chest  had  dis- 
appeared, and  was  replaced  by  a  commode  of  wrought 
copper,  on  which  stood  two  superb  candlesticks,  one 
on  each  side  of  a  clock,  representing  the  temple  of 
Love  resting  on  a  globe.  Surrounded  by  this  cast-off 
splendor,  selected  hap-hazard  from  the  ancient  furni- 
ture of  the  chateau,  pere  and  mere  Sappey  seemed  to 
have  lost  their  individuality;  their  whole  expression 
was  one  of  mingled  surprise  and  sorrow,  which  might 
be  taken  for  joy  or  despair,  as  one  pleased. 

On  perceiving  the  cure,  who  also  had  not  his  ordi- 
nary manner,  instead  of  going  to  meet  him  and  in- 
viting him  to  enter,  as  usual,  they  both  rose  with  a 
little  company  smile  and  stood  motionless,  almost  as 
yellow  as  the  velvet  arm-chairs. 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  31 

"  Well,  pere  Sappey,  are  you  happy  ?  " 

"  Oh !  certainly,  Monsieur  le  cur6,"  replied  his 
wife,  without  raising  her  voice,  "  certainly,  of  course 
he  is." 

"  You  are  no  longer  alone,  and  your  room  has 
been  very  handsomely  furnished." 

"  Oh  !  bless  me,  yes,  Monsieur  le  cure",  bless  me, 
yes.  And  our  masters  belong  to  the  very  best  socie- 
ty. The  countess's  papa — ah,  how  affable  and  pleas- 
ant he  is  to  everybody !  Only — take  care  how  you 
walk  on  the  mats,"  added  mere  Sappey,  addressing 
her  husband,  who  had  made  a  step  forward,  "you 
will  flatten  them,  and  then  you  will  have  a  quarrel 
with  the  steward.  Ah  !  Dufour  is  no  joker,  you 
know  that  very  well." 

"  You  told  me  that  you  were  very  well  pleased, 
mere  Sappey,"  continued  Abb6  Roche,  "  but  you  ad- 
ded only.  What  is  it  that  you  lack  ?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all,  Monsieur  le  cure".  They  give 
us  everything  we  need.  M.  Dufour  does  not  even 
wish  me  to  make  my  husband's  soup.  He  says  that 
if  I  cook,  it  would  make  an  odor — what  in  the  world 
did  he  call  it  ?  Oh  !  he  says  that  it  would  make  an 
infectious  odor ;  I  don't  know  exactly  what  he  means 
by  that ;  but  we  are  supplied  with  food,  and  well  sup- 
plied, I  can  tell  you  !  Too  well,  for  we  have  nothing 
to  do.  It  is  so  tiresome  to  do  nothing  !  " 

"  Hush  !  you  have  been  told  that  we  are  paid  for 
doing  that,"  said  the  mountaineer,  gravely. 

"  I'm  not  saying  any  harm,  only  it's  tiresome  to 
stay  here,  sitting  still  all  day  long.  It  gives  one  a 
pain  in  the  back — but  we  are  very  well  off  all  the 
.same;  only — " 

"  There  is  your  only  again,  mere  Sappey,"  said  the 
cure.  "  Tell  me,  quickly,  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

"  Well,  this  is  what  troubles  me  ;  you  needn't  wink 
at  me — I  can  tell  Monsieur  le  cure\  Well,  then,  the 
steward  said — he  meant  well,  of  course — that  pere  Sap- 


32  ABOUND   A    SPRIXU. 

pey  must  not  be  dressed  in  this  way  any  longer ; 
that — in  short,  a  quantity  of  things  ;  and  they  are  go- 
ing to  put  my  husband  into  red  clothes  like  the  others, 
and  it  has  such  an  effect  upon  me !  It  is  just  as  if  they 
said,  '  You  must  be  married  to  another  man.' " 

The  old  mountaineer  muttered :  "  How  silly  these 
women  are.  Good  Heavens,  how  silly  they  are  ! " 

"  And  the  Lord  knows  that  the  men  are  vain 
enough !  It  is  because  there  are  brass  buttons,  and 
gold  lace  around  the  pockets  that  he  wants  to  wear 
that  coat.  He  is  dying  to  get  it  on." 

"  Why,  mere  Sappey,"  said  the  cure,  "  no  one  can 
compel  your  husband  to  wear  a  livery  against  his  will. 
You  are  anxious  without  cause.  Are  the  count  and 
countess  in  the  chateau  ? " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  le  cure,  you  will  find  them  on 
the  lawn  with  the  others." 

As  the  priest  left  the  tower,  the  good  woman 
turned  to  her  husband  :  "  There,  you  have  again  for- 
gotten to  pull  the  handle.  Don't  I  tell  you  that  you 
will  get  us  into  trouble  ? " 

She  rushed  forward,  striding  over  the  little  mats, 
to  a  copper  button  which  projected  from  the  wall, 
and  the  ringing  of  a  bell  was  heard  in  the  court-yard. 
A  footman  in  small-clothes  and  white  stockings  in- 
stantly appeared  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  walked 
on  before  the  priest,  who  began  to  regret  that  he  had 
not  left  the  huge  cane  he  was  in  the  habit  of  carrying, 
in  pore  Sappey's  charge. 

While  he  was  crossing  the  ante-chamber  and  the 
splendidly  decorated  drawing-room,  he  could  not  help 
observing  the  superb  lackey  who  was  leading  the 
wray.  He  was  a  noticeable  person,  and  moved  with 
striking  ease  and  dignity  of  bearing.  His  complexion 
was  pale,  his  expression  grave;  his  carefully  arranged 
hair  was  powdered,  his  stiff,  light  whiskers  brushed 
back  on  either  side  of  his  noble  countenance,  and  the 
shining  pumps  he  wore  had  such  delicate  soles  and 


AROUND  A   SPRING.  33 

were  so  handsomely  shaped,  that  on  looking  down  at 
his  own  shoes,  which  left  much  to  be  desired  in  point 
of  beauty,  the  cur6  felt  an  involuntary  sense  of  inorti- 
fication-^even  heroes  are  not  exempt  from  such  fol- 
lies— yet  he  was  well  pleased.  The  glittering  orna- 
ments, the  suits  of  armor  resting  against  the  walls, 
the  hangings,  embroidered  with  the  count's  armorial 
bearings,  the  stately  portraits,  proud  witnesses  of  a 
venerable  past,  even  the  valet,  who  had  acquired  some- 
thing of  the  characteristics  of  the  aristocracy  while 
in  their  service — all  was  a  fitting  expression  of  the  maj- 
esty by  which  he  wished  to  see  the  nobility  surround- 
ed. The  apartments  had  an  air  of  grandeur  and  mag- 
nificence, and  were,  in  truth,  an  appropriate  residence 
for  these  noble  counts  with  their  imposing  appear- 
ance. 

The  valet  opened  a  glass  door,  which  admitted 
them  to  the  lawn,  and  the  priest,  advancing,  heard 
such  shouts  of  laughter  as  sometimes  rise  from  the 
grounds  of  a  boarding-school  during  the  hours  of  re- 
cess. In  the  centre  of  the  lawn  seven  or  eight  per- 
sons, dressed  in  light  colors,  were  playing  hot  cockles 
with  the  most  total  absence  of  restraint.  The  cure, 
somewhat  bewildered  by  the  unexpected  sight,  turn- 
ed involuntarily  towards  the  dignified  footman,  who 
was  perfectly  calm,  grave,  quiet,  and  impassible.  On 
finding  himself  in  the  presence  of  people  whom  he 
had  surprised  in  more  or  less  ridiculous  attitudes,  and 
who  were  clothed  in  strange,  fantastic  costumes,  the 
priest  suddenly  and  completely  regained  his  self- 
command,  his  face  assumed  its  usual  grave  expres- 
sion, and  he  descended  the  flight  of  three  steps  like 
the  statue  of  the  commandant. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  cried  the  Count  de  Man- 
teigney,  twirling  round  on  one  foot,  "  allow  me  to 
present  our  beloved  pastor."  This  sally  produced  a 
very  different  effect  from  what  he  had  anticipated, 
and  at  the  glance  which  Abbe  Roche  cast  around  him, 
3 


34  AEOUND  A  SPRING. 

the  laughter  died  away,  the  eye-glasses  dropped,  and 
the  gentlemen  bowed  courteously.  The  ladies  wel- 
comed the  new-comer  by  a  slight  motion  of  the  head, 
leaning  back,  almost  reclining  in  their  huge  arm-chairs. 

,  One  of  them — the  young  countess — who  seemed  al- 
most lost  among  the  flounces  and  puffs  of  her  white 
dress,  raised  a  beautiful  arm  which  looked  almost 

'  bare  in  its  transparent  sleeve,  and  familiarly,  as  one 
convent  friend  would  greet  another  at  the  prefet's 
ball,  held  out  her  little  gloved  hand  to  the  amazed 
Abbe  Roche.  It  \vas  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  he 
had  encountered  such  an  apparition.  On  certain  days, 
when  his  mind  was  disturbed,  he  had  perhaps  caught 
a  glimpse  of  attractive,  tempting  images  in  some  fleet- 
ing dream !  but  the  charms  of  this  countess,  whom 
he  saw  with  his  own  eyes,  could  even  touch  with  his 
own  hand — for  she  extended  hers — surpassed  all  that 
his  imagination  had  ever  pictured. 

She  did  indeed  possess  a  singular,  most  unusual 
style  of  beauty,  whose  wonderful  brilliancy  the  priest 
could  only  explain  to  himself  by  attributing  it  to  the 
influence  of  a  heavenly  soul,  which  was  faithfully  mir- 
rored in  the  fair  face.  Her  hair  arranged  in  a  multi- 
tude of  light  curls,  and  most  skilfully  knotted  to- 
gether, was  of  the  light  red  and  golden  hues  that  one 
sees  in  a  field  of  wheat  when  the  sun  is  setting.  And 
while  her  face  was  of  the  pure,  creamy  whiteness  that 
one  would  not  suppose  the  human  skin  could  possess, 
her  eyebrows  were  extremely  dark,  almost  black,  and 
as  if  traced  by  an  artist's  pencil,  formed  a  most  per- 
fect arch  and  ended  in  a  delicate  line  at  the  temples. 
Her  eye  had  a  deep,  searching  expression,  caused  by 
the  dark  tinge  that  surrounded  it  and  gave  it  a  mys- 
terious glance,  though  without  diminishing  its  bril- 
liancy. The  lashes  increased  this  effect :  they  might 
have  belonged  to  some  Indian  woman  adorned  for  a 
sacrifice  ;  unusually  black,  fierce  looking,  yet  soft  and 
curved  so  that  the  tips,  of  remarkable  length,  almost 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  3.5 

touched  the  extreme  point  of  the  wonderful  eyebrows 
and  seemed  to  mingle  with  them.  She  was  most 
beautiful,  but  appeared  like  a  vision,  so  that  one  was 
both  uneasy  and  attracted.  In  spite  of  one's  self, 
one  strove  to  understand  the  secret  of  these  charms, 
and  could  not  take  one's  eyes  from  the  living  enigma. 
Abbe  Roche,  who  was  less  acquainted  than  most 
men  with  the  tricks  and  stratagems  of  modern  co- 
quetry, felt,  in  spite  of  his  apparent  gravity  of  de- 
meanor, an  irresistible  curiosity.  Was  this  an  angel 
descended  among  us  for  a  moment?  was  it  some  re- 
nowned fairy,  escaped  from  an  ancient  legend;  or 
perhaps  the  countess  was  angel  and  fairy  in  one — 
such  phenomena  are  sometimes  seen. 

"  Ah !  my  dear  good  cure,  how  glad  I  am  to  see 
you !  "  She  spoke  very  rapidly,  and  made  a  thousand 
little  gestures,  most  charming  in  themselves,  but 
wholly  unnecessary  to  convey  the  meaning  of  her 
words.  "  The  count  must  have  told  you  that  you 
are  never  out  of  my  mind ;  I  have  dreamed  of  you 
constantly ;  do  not  make  excuses,  but  give  me  your 
hand.  Oh,  you  shall  not  escape  me,  rely  upon  it; 
give  me  your  hand.  Pardon  me  if  I  cut  short  the  in- 
troductions, there  is  nothing  more  stupid." 

Then  hastily  removing  her  glove  she  waved  her 
little  hand,  pink  and  white  like  her  face,  full  of  blue 
veins,  and  loaded  with  rings,  around  the  circle,  say 
ing:  "The  Count  de  Manteigney  you  already  know ; 
Mme.  and  Mile,  de  Rougeon,  of  whom  I  am  very 
fond ;  Monsieur  de  Rougeon,  with  the  black  mus- 
tache, husband  and  father  of  the  two  ladies,  whom  I 
also  like  —  sometimes ;  don't  interrupt  me,  M.  de 
Rougeon,  I  see  you  want  to  propose  an  amendment. 
Let  me  see,  who  else  ?  ah  !  papa,  whom  you  see  yon- 
der in  a  white  waistcoat,  he's  rather  stout,  poor  papa. 
He  is  talking  just  now  with  young  Claudius,  one  of 
our  Parisian  beaux,  with  the  curled  whiskers,  blue 


36  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

cravat,  etc.,  a  horrid  creature — I  say  so  because  he 
isn't  here." 

"  I  hear  you,  countess,"  said  Claudius,  who  was 
standing  at  some  five  or  six  paces  distance. 

"  Then  I  will  add  that  I  like  him  very  much,  all 
the  same,  and  he  plays  hot  cockles  as  if  he  had  invent- 
ed it.  By-the-way,  wouldn't  you  like  to  play  a  game, 
Monsieur  le  cur6  ?  You  see  we  are  very  unceremo- 
nious." 

"Oh!  my  dear,"  murmured  Mme.  de  Rougeon, 
waving  her  little  fan  with  an  expostulating  air. 

"  Well,  what !  my  dear  friend  ?  Is  there  any  game 
less  objectionable  than  hot  cockles?  Besides,  I  don't 
insist  upon  it.  People  need  not  play  unless  they  wish. 
Monsieur  le  cure,  put  your  little  switch  in  a  corner, 
and  sit  down  here  near  me.  I  am  so  anxious  to  have 
a  serious  conversation  with  you.  There  are  many 
poor  people  to  be  helped  in  your  parish,  are  there 
not  ?  " 

"  Some  few,  yes,  Madame,  but — " 

"  Well,  I  had  taken  it  into  my  head  that  there 
were  more ;  it  is  a  settled  idea.  I  shall  visit  the 
mountains  myself  from  top  to  bottom,  on  a  pretty  lit- 
tle white  donkey  that  I  shall  keep  expressly  for  that 
purpose,  with  scarlet  rosettes  under  its  ears.  How 
should  one  spend  one's  life  if  not  in  charity,  and  for 
what  will  God  hold  one  accountable,  if  not  for  the 
good  one  can  do  !  " 

Abb6  Roche  was  deeply  moved  by  the  last  words. 
Was  it  not  evident  that  they  were  those  of  a  noble 
soul  ?  Let  us  add  that  they  fell  from  the  countess's 
lips  with  a  most  musical  intonation,  and  that  her 
voice  possessed  delicate  shades  and  unexpected  mod- 
ulations, whose  charm  would  be  felt  by  any  ear,  how- 
ever uneducated  and  unsympathetic  it  might  be.  So 
sweet  a  voice  must  be  the  expression  of  moral  beauty. 
And  yet,  if  this  young  woman  was  an  angel,  as  every 
thing  tended  to  prove,  why  were  her  arms  almost 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  37 

bare  in  the  gauze  sleeves  which  merely  seemed  to 
idealize  their  beauty?  Perhaps  it  was  on  account  of 
the  heat :  it  was,  certainly,  extremely  warm.  Was  it 
also  a  matter  of  chance  that  the  upper  part  of  the 
waist  of  her  dress  had  no  lining,  and  revealed  the 
outline  of  her  figure,  which  irresistibly  attracted  the 
gaze.  Wherefore  this  display  of  charms,  which  were 
useless  to  a  person  who  wished  to  devote  her  life  to 
the  relief  of  the  poor  ?  What  a  strange  mystery  !  Was 
it  also  by  accident  that,  while  engaged  in  conversa- 
tion, she  thrust  out  her  foot  until  a  large  portion  was 
visible  of  her  white  silk  stocking  with  its  open-work 
embroidery,  so  open  that  the  white  became  pink, 
either  from  shame  at  being  observed,  or  because  the 
limb  it  covered  without  concealing,  appeared  through 
its  thousand  accommodating  meshes  ?  Was  it  a  mat- 
ter of  accident  that  the  young  woman  tapped  her 
little  foot  with  an  impatience  for  which  there  was  no 
apparent  cause,  attracting  the  attention  with  innocent 
or  most  consummately  artful  carelessness,  to  a  tiny 
pearl  gray  boot,  which  might  have  belonged  to  a  child, 
with  heels  so  high  and  narrow  that  it  would  be  im- 
possible for  any  thing  but  a  bird  to  keep  its  balance 
on  them.  The  priest  was  thinking  of  all  this,  while 
the  countess  was  talking. 

"And  how  can  one  conceive  of  the  lives  of  these 
poor  mountaineers,  who  spend  half  their  time  under 
the  snow  ?"  she  continued.  "  And,  oh  dear  !  they  rear 
children,  notwithstanding  all  this  : — it  is  an  unheard 
of  thing !"  A  general  burst  of  laughter  roused  the 
cure  from  his  abstraction,  and  he  smiled  without  hav- 
ing comprehended  a  single  word. 

"  What  is  there  so  very  extraordinary  in  what  I 
said  ?"  asked  Mme.  de  Manteigney,  without  showing 
the  slightest  embarrassment.  "  People  must  have  no 
heart  to  laugh  at  such  misfortunes  ;  but  tell  me,  my 
dear  cur6,  is  there  no  way  of  melting  this  dreadful 


38  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

snow  or  sweeping  it  off,  or  —  we  must  find  some 
means  of  removing  it,  for  your  situation  is  frightful." 

At  that  moment  the  two  wings  of  the  glass  door 
were  thrown  open,  and  a  steward,  dressed  in  black 
from  head  to  foot,  like  a  lawyer,  announced  that  din- 
ner was  served.  Abbd  Roche  felt  his  color  rise. 
Doubtless  they  would  think  that  he  had  chosen  the 
dinner  hour  intentionally  as  the  time  to  pay  his  visit ; 
but  how  was  he  to  suppose  that  the  meal  was  served 
after  seven  o'clock. 

"  Come,  let  us  go  in  to  dinner,  my  dear  cure',  we 
shall  be  able  to  talk  better  there."  Abbe"  Roche's 
embarrassment  was  always  manifested  by  a  chilling 
reserve,  which  would  naturally  be  misunderstood  by 
those  who  were  not  thoroughly  acquainted  with  him. 
He  excused  himself  in  a  very  few  words,  and  in  such 
a  manner  that  no  one  attempted  to  press  the  matter. 
The  countess,  after  making  a  pretty  little  grimace, 
cried :  "  Ah  !  well,  this  is  only  the  beginning.  So 
you  will  not  stay.  I  want  you  to  visit  us,  Monsieur 
le  curd,  and  as  you  are  so  fond  of  ceremony,  I  will 
send  you  an  invitation  to  dinner  on  handsome,  enam- 
elled paper." 

While  Abbd  Roche  was  returning  home,  with 
downcast  eyes,  thinking  of  what  he  had  just  seen,  the 
inmates  of  the  chateau  took  their  seats  around  the 
large  table. 

"  Do  you  know,  my  curd  is  very  good  looking  ? " 
said  the  countess  ;  "  he's  not  at  all  the  kind  of  person 
I  expected." 

"  He  looks  like  a  magistrate  on  the  bench,"  mur- 
mured the  count's  father-in-law,  blowing  upon  his 
spoonful  of  soup ;  and  Mme.  de  Rougeon,  who  had 
the  stiff  manners  one  might  attribute  to  some  carven 
saint,  replied  :  "  It  would  be  desirable  that  all  magis- 
trates had  his  noble,  unaffected  bearing  and  face.  The 
cur6  of  this  village  is  a  magnificent  looking  man,  who 
must  be  remarkably  dignified  at  the  altar:  one  in 


ABOUND  A  SPRING.  39 

whom  Saint  Thomas  Aquinas  would  take  pride,  it  is 
no  exaggerated  praise  to  say  that." 

"  That  is  exactly  like  ladles,"  sighed  Monsieur  de 
Rougeon,  "  they  judge  a  priest  by  the — what  shall  I 
call  it  ?  by  the  beauty  of  his  form,  if  I  may  dare  to 
say  so." 

"  I  should  not  have  dared  to  say  it,  papa,  and  that 
is  the  way  papas  disturb  young  girls'  minds  by  not 
being  sufficiently  guarded  in  their  conversation." 

"  Angele !" 

"  Papa." 

"  If  you  were  not  such  a  lively  child,  your — I  don't 
know  exactly  how  to  express  myself — your  badinage 
would  be  embarrassing,  little  mischief.  It  is  by  the 
moral  virtues  that  you  should  first  judge  a  man  of 
caractere  sacre." 

"  Good  !  papa  is  swearing." 

And  placing  a  tortoise-shell  eye-glass  on  her  little 
retroussee  nose,  Mile,  de  Rougeon,  with  a  saucy  air, 
cast  a  merry  glance  at  the  guests,  who  all  laughed 
heartily. 

"  As  for  me,"  said  the  count,  addressing  his  wife, 
"  I  was  by  no  means  pleased  with  your  cure ;  he  is  a 
pedant,  and  I  should  be  surprised  if  this  carabinier  in 
disguise  turned  out  to  be  any  better  than  a  simple- 
ton." 

"  Faith,  perhaps  you  are  wrong  my  dear  fellow," 
observed  M.  Claudius ;  "  but  it  is  my  firm  intention 
to  make  him  my  intimate  friend.  He  will  help  me  in 
my  researches  in  this  region,  and  I  am  sure  that  there 
are  wonderful  things  to  be  collected,  especially  rare 
china — I  already  scent  old  china.  Ah  !  by-the-way,  I 
have  put  aside  a  little  red  copper  kettle,  adorned  with 
the  Manteigney  arms.  It  is  an  exquisite  thing — pure 
Louis  Quinze.  The  savages  were  going  to  put  it  on 
the  fire.  If  you  are  willing,  we  will  make  an  ex- 
change. I  know  that  this  Vandalism  with  regard  to 
relics  is  the  most  common  thing  in  the  world,  but  it 


40  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

always  vexes  me.  You  have  seen  my  Henri  Second 
corkscrew  ?" 

"  Certainly,  it  is  at  Cluny  ?" 

"  Not  yet ;  they  are  such  obstinate  people  !  We 
have  been  at  a  stand-still  for  six  months  about  twenty- 
five  louis.  They  offer  me  a  hundred,  but  I  want  a 
hundred  and  twenty-five." 

"  You  are  making  a  goorl  bargain,  my  friend." 

"  Certainly  I  am.  I  paid  a  little  more  than  two 
francs  for  it,  in  an  out-of-the-way  inn  near  Orleans." 

A  general  laugh  again  resounded  through  the 
room.  "  Claudius  is  a  singular  fellow.  What  a  fac- 
ulty he  has  for  collecting  curiosities.  Nothing  escapes 
him!" 

And  Claudius,  as  soon  as  silence  was  restored,  be- 
gan the  story  of  the  Henri  Second  corkscrew,  relating 
with  much  wit  and  animation  the  numberless  strata- 
gems to  which  he  had  been  compelled  to  resort  in 
order  to  obtain  the  precious  treasure. 


VI. 

Viscount  Claudius  was  a  gentleman  who  belonged 
to  the  most  fashionable  society.  He  was  born — at 
least  so  he  said — with  soft  lair  hair,  a  very  keen  in- 
tellect, and  great  worldly  experience.  He  also  pos- 
sessed principles  of  most  unbounded  liberality,  and 
had,  besides,  unlimited  credit  at  his  tailor's.  He  was 
wonderfully  accomplished  and  gifted.  Nature  linger- 
ed over  her  finishing  touches  to  this  young  man,  cor- 
recting the  contours,  retouching  the  half-tints,  cover- 
ing her  work  with  delicate  strokes,  caressingly  shaping 
the  outlines.  Unfortunately  she  had  forgotten  the 
frame,  and  the  young  viscount,  on  attaining  years  of 
discretion,  had  instantly  realized  the  imperative  ne- 
cessity for  a  gilder  who  could  supply  what  was  want- 
ing. There  is  no  slight  difficulty  in  making  a  fortune 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  41 

when  the  traditions  of  a  majestic  past,  real  or  imagin- 
ary, compel  you  to  accept  only  from  divine  liberality 
the  wealth  that  others  procure  by  regular,  daily  labor. 
This  handsome  youth  thus  found  himself  on  leaving 
college,  like  many  of  his  associates,  strangely  embar- 
rassed by  being  confronted  with  numerous  pursuits, 
into  which  the  common  herd  rushed  eagerly,  while  he 
could  not  even  cast  a  glance  at  them  without  disgust. 
He  remembered  that  chance  had  always  been  Provi- 
dence incognito,  and  played  a  little  at  baccarat  to  re- 
call himself  to  the  memory  of  his  Heavenly  Father. 
His  first  efforts  were  successful ;  the  louis  rolled  into 
the  pocket  of  his  pretty  vest ;  he  looked  around  him 
with  more  confidence,  and  perceived  numbers  of  fair- 
haired  gentlemen  as  charming  as  himself,  who  were 
in  the  same  situation.  Naturally  he  adopted  their 
mode  of  life,  observed  their  means  of  procuring  mon- 
ey, and  was  soon  convinced  that  the  improvement  of 
the  horse  was  the  only  door  of  safety  in  which  a  man 
of  rank  could  take  refuge  with  any  advantage.  He 
therefore  studied  the  crossing  of  the  breeds  with 
great  assiduity,  became  familiar  with  the  most  famous 
horses,  and,  finding  more  and  more  pleasure  in  the 
piirsuit,  and  also  being  gifted  with  great  quickness, 
soon  became  known  as  a  judge  of  horse  flesh,  and  was 
quoted  as  an  authority  whose  opinion  was  second  in 
value  to  none.  It  was  at  this  time  that  his  intimacy 
began  with  the  great  duchess  of  Blanmon,  who  was 
a  little — fond  of  horses. 

The  viscount's  presence  in  the  family  circle  at 
Manteigney  may  be  very  easily  explained.  Count 
Jean  and  Claudius  had  met  in  the  upper  circles  of 
Parisian  fashionable  society.  They  had  easily  under- 
stood each  other,  and  had  become  very  intimate 
friends.  It  was  to  the  viscount's  tact  that  Jean  de 
Manteigney  owed  the  wealthy  marriage  that  had  re- 
gilded  his  escutcheon. 

The   two   young   men  were  leaving  the    Opera 


42  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

House  one  evening.  As  they  stepped  under  the  aw- 
ning over  the  entrance,  they  began  to  yawn,  and  the 
taller  of  the  two,  drawing  his  watch  from  his  pocket, 
exclaimed  :  "  Twenty  minutes  past  twelve.  What 
are  you  going  to  do  this  evening,  de  Manteigney  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  my  dear  fellow.  I  was  thinking  of 
looking  in  at  the  club,  but  it  is  of  no  consequence.  I 
will  go  wherever  you  like." 

"  Well !  that  is  just  the  thing ;  let  us  go  to  the 
club."  He  made  a  sign ;  a  tiny  coup6,  about  the  size 
of  a  bureau,  drew  up,  and  both  entered.  After  a  mo- 
ment's pause,  as  the  little  affair  was  whirling  rapidly 
over  the  boulevard,  Claudius  said  to  his  companion  : 
"  My  dear  Jean,  lend  me  a  hundred  louis." 

"  Willingly,  my  friend,  if  you  will  first  advance 
me  two  hundred." 

'  Ah  !  that  is  how  it  is." 

'  It  is  exactly  as  I  have  the  honor  to  tell  you." 

'  Then  it  is  a  serious  matter  ?  '• 

'  Extremely  so  !     And  you  ?  " 

'  Oh !  I'm  in  the  same  fix,  precisely." 

And  they  both  hummed  a  few  moments,  after 
which  Claudius  exclaimed,  striking  his  friend  on  the 
knee,  "  What  do  you  intend  to  do  ?  " 

"  There  are  always  the  pontifical  zouaves.  What 
would  you  have  ?  " 

"  Something  better.  You  must  make  a  wealthy 
marriage,  and  you  won't  find  a  fiancee  there.  May  I 
ask  you  frankly  just  how  much  you  have  left  ?  " 

"  I  confess  that  the  question  coming  from  any  one 
else  would  be  extremely  impertinent.  I  have — some 
credit,  and  an  old  house  in  the  mountains,  total — " 

"  What  sort  of  a  house  ? " 

"A  little  old,  black,  sombre  chateau,  a  perfect 
eagle's  nest,  concealed  under  the  chestnut  trees." 

"  And  its  revenues  ?  " 

"  Can  you  ask  such  a  question  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  chateau  ? 


AROUND  A   SPRING.  43 

"  Manteigney,  of  course  !  It  is  our  family  chateau." 

Claudius's  face  suddenly  changed,  and  he  exclaim- 
ed, speaking  with  comical  emphasis :  "  What  a  child 
you  are !  you  complain,  and  yet  have  all  the  trumps 
in  your  own  hands  !  Ah  !  if  I  only  had  a  chateau 
that  bore  my  name  !  Will  you  place  your  fate  in  my 
hands  ?  The  deuce  take  it,  we  must  make  a  bold  push." 

At  the  same  moment  Claudius  let  down  the  front 
window,  spoke  to  his  coachman,  and  the  carriage 
turned  in  another  direction. 

"  Are  we  not  going  to  the  club  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  we  are  going  to  spend  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  at  friend  Vernon's.  There  will  probably 
be  a.  crowd  there  this  evening,  on  account  of  its  being 
the  first  night  of  the  Varieties —  A  feudal  castle ! 
Was  there  ever  such  a  chance  ? " 

"  What  are  we  to  do  at  Vernon's  ?  " 

"  Look  up  the  father  of  the  charming  creature 
whom  you  are  to  marry  in  less  than  three  months,  if 
you  play  your  cards  well." 

"  Has  she  a — decent  fortune  ?  " 

"  Indecent  on  the  contrary,  colossal,  monstrous. 
Are  you  satisfied  ?  " 

"  And  what  sort  of  a  person  is  the  father  ?  " 

"  Very  fair,  a  very  good  sort  of  person.  He  is  a 
manufacturer.  You  know  what  those  kind  of  people 
are — very  fair." 

"A  manufacturer-— but  a  manufacturer  of  what? 
a  lamp-maker,  or  a  tinman  ?  " 

"  Oh !  he  must  have  been  a  worker  in  tin,  I  won't 
conceal  anything  from  you;  he  was  a  dealer  in  spouts, 
but  they  \vere  excellent  spouts  !  " 

Both  burst  into  a  shout  of  laughter,  in  the  midst 
of  which  Count  Jean  said  :  "  I  cannot  keep  such  low 
company  as  that.  Come,  be  reasonable,  my  family  is 
of  no  mushroom  growth." 

"  Neither  is  mine  ;  and  yet  I  assure  you  that  tho 
spout  dealer's  daughter  would  suit  me  perfectly.  I 


44  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

will  even  tell  you  that  I  wouldn't  give  her  to  you,  if 
it  were  not  impossible  to  get  her  myself.  I  will  add, 
my  dear  fellow,  that  your  father-in-law  gave  up  his 
spout  business  long  ago." 

"  Ah  !  he  has  given  it  up.  He  did  right ;  and 
what  has  been  his  occupation  since  then  ?  " 

"  He  is  satisfied  with  being  one  of  the  great  capi- 
talists in  France,  in  originating  and  sustaining  colossal 
schemes,  owning  the  mines  and  forges  of  Lamar, 
being  the  sleeping  partner  and  associate  of — of  the — " 

"  Ah  !  do  you  mean  pere  Larreau  ?  " 

"  You  have  hit  it  exactly." 

"  Oh  !  why  didn't  you  tell  me  so  at  once  ?  You 
made  my  back  creep  with  your  spouts.  He  is  not  at 
all  an  out-of  the- way  person.  M.  Larreau  is  well 
known — relatively.  He  is  a  financier,  my  dear  fel- 
low." 

"  Who  said  that  he  wasn't  ?  Then  he  is  in  active 
life  ;  has  been  in  our  society — in  short,  is  very  influ- 
ential— a  friend  of  the  ministers." 

"  As  to  that,  I  care  nothing  about  it.  Does  this 
Vernon  fellow  live  far  away.  It  is  vexatious  that  he 
should  have  sold —  What  did  you  say  that  he 
sold?  What  singular  commencements  there  are  to 
some  careers !  " 

"  I  said  spouts,  my  good  friend." 

"  There  are  so  many  chattering  simpletons  ready 
to  say  that  we  sell  our  names — fools,  Avho  will  not 
understand — " 

"The  demands  of  the  society  in  which  we  live; 
but,  thank  Heaven,  we  are  in  a  position  to  choose 
our  wives  where  we  like,  if  it  were  from  a  back  shop, 
without  loAvering  ourselves  by  it.  She  \vill  bring  an 
immense  dowry.  Well,  that  is  the  least  she  can  do; 
after  having  taken  the  dear  little  thing  for  nothing, 
and  polished  her  up  beautifully,  should  you  be  also  at 
the  expense  of  coloring !  That  makes  me  furious. 
What,  my  dear  fellow,  these  people  have  pillaged, 


AROUND  A   SPRING.  A5 

robbed,  ruined  us,  enriched  themselves  at  our  ex- 
pense, like  footmen,  by  selling  our  cast- off  clothes, 
and  we  are  not  to  have  a  right  to  recover  some  little 
portion  of  our  property,  by  marrying  their  daughters, 
whom  we  remove  from  them.  The  deuce  !  you  must 
imagine  that  it  was  by  stealing  the  lead  from  your 
gutters  that  M.  Larreau  succeeded  in  making  his  first 
spout,  and  becoming  what  he  is.  Well !  now  you 
say  to  him:  'I  wish  to  marry  your  daughter;  jo\\ 
shall  be  the  father  of  a  countess,  robber,  but  restore 
my  gutter.'  That  is  how  I  understand  the  situation. 
Oh !  I  have  a  very  clear  head  for  these  matters." 

"  How  perfectly  reasonable  your  remarks  are,  my 
dear  Claudius." 

"  Good  Heavens !  suppose  all  these  people,  who 
have  become  suddenly  rich,  should  humble  them- 
selves a  little  and  place  their  daughters  and  their 
money  bags  at  our  feet,  do  you  see  any  great  harm 
in  that  ?  Does  it  not  very  much  resemble  a  neces- 
sary restitution  ?  " 

"  Yes,  necessary,  fortunate,  providential." 

"  Certainly  providential.  For  seventy  years  these 
people  have  blocked  up  all  the  roads,  plundered  and 
soiled  everything,  until  in  our  noble  country  of  France, 
a  gentleman,  who  does  not  wish  to  soil  his  boots,  is, 
deuce  take  it !  forced  to  walk  on  his  hands,  or  shut 
himself  up  in  his  cellar,  arid  should  not  justice  be 
done  at  last !  Empty  your  pockets,  Jean  Bonhom- 
me,  give  us  your  daughter,  and  return  to  your  du- 
ties." 

At  that  moment  the  carriage  rolled  over  the  grav- 
el, and  stopped  before  the  door  of  a  fine  mansion, 
which  belonged  to  Vernon,  a  historical  painter  by  pro- 
fession. 

I  deeply  regret  that  respect  for  private  life  should 
have  prevented  my  writing  the  curious  volume  about 
Vernon  and  his  studio,  which  they  both  deserve.  It 
would  be  to  such  a  book  that  I  should  now  send  the 


46  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

reader,  instead  of  spoiling  a  capital  subject  by  a 
sketch  which  is  of  necessity  too  hasty.  These  are 
the  facts,  briefly  told.  From  his  early  youth  Ver- 
non,  the  historical  painter,  had  served  in  the  heavy 
cavalry.  He  was  a  bold-spirited  fellow,  endowed 
writh  a  very  keen  intellect,  and  exuberant  gayety.  He 
had  a  soldierly  carriage,  hooked  nose,  piercing  eye, 
and  moreover,  was  the  legitimate  son  of  the  nurse  of 
a  person  who  occupied  a  very  high  station. 

These  circumstances  procured  him  numerous  and 
warm  protectors ;  but  he  was  worthy  of  fortune's 
favors  both  as  cuirassier  and  artist,  being  in  the  one 
profession  brave  as  his  sword,  and  having  also  proved 
his  vocation  as  painter  by  executing  numbers  of 
charming  little  pictures  in  oil  and  water  colors,  since 
his  admission  to  the  regiment.  This  taste  and  vari- 
rious  other  reasons  induced  Vernon,  already  a  rich 
man  and  major  of  cavalry,  to  sheath  his  sword  and 
devote  himself  to  the  cultivation  of  art.  He  bought 
a  house,  had  a  large  studio  built,  and  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  maternal  star,  became  almost  insensi- 
bly the  most  popular  of  hosts,  and  most  renowned  of 
the  artists  employed  in  taking  the  portraits  of  the 
dignitaries  of  the  country.  Although  his  two  pupils, 
who  greatly  assisted  him,  could  sketch  and  color,  the 
works  of  this  master  are  not  chefs-d'oeuvre.  This  is 
readily  admitted  by  all,  even  while  loudly  praising 
his  unique,  effects  of  light  and  shade,  and  the  wonder- 
ful finish  of  his  accessories. 

Whether  with  or  without  reason,  the  portrait-paint- 
er, who  had  quickly  become  famous,  found  himself 
overwhelmed  with  orders.  To  sit  for  one's  picture 
in  his  celebrated  studio,  was  one  of  the  most  delight- 
ful of  occupations.  All  the  floating  rumors  in  Paris 
centred  there ;  the  journalists  came  for  news,  and  a 
constant  succession  of  people  of  all  kinds  came  and 
went  from  morning  till  night.  The  pleasant  evening 
receptions  that  Vernon  organized  gave  the  finishing- 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  47 

touch  to  the  popularity  of  his  mansion.  It  was  a 
favored  spot,  a  sort  of  neutral  ground,  where,  thanks 
to  the  unceremonious  style  of  living  natural  to  one 
half  artist,  half  soldier,  he  succeeded  in  creating  re- 
lations and  friendship  between  people  who  would 
otherwise  never  have  known  each  other.  Men  of 
pleasure,  bankers,  journalists,  politicians,  capitalists, 
and  racing  men  met  each  other  there,  while  Parisian 
exquisites,  the  flower  of  French  aristocracy,  fell  into 
the  habit  of  taking  it  as  a  place  to  exhibit  their  graces 
.and  elegance.  This  truly  Parisian  circle  was  natural- 
ly the  fashionable  coutisse  for  aristocratic  curiosity- 
seekers.  The  studio  contained  wonderful  rarities, 
magnificent  furniture,  jewels,  and  splendid  tapestry, 
which  came  from  nobody  knew  where,  and  were  con- 
stantly renewed. 

"  Here  is  something  I  have  found,"  said  Yernon ; 
"  what  do  you  say  to  it  ?" 

"  It  is  very  elegant,  gentlemen,  exquisite  enough  !" 
murmured  Claudius  in  a  low  tone,  turning  the  ar- 
ticle thoughtfully  around,  then  raising  his  voice : 
"  Vernon,  you  don't  know  what  you  have  there." 

"  And  who  told  you  I  didn't  ?  It  is  a  beautiful 
ivory  carving,  a  hunting-horn  belonging  to  the  six- 
teenth century,  adorned  with  the  arms  of  France, 
neither  more  nor  less." 

"  Vernon,  my  dear  fellow,  a  hundred  louis," 
grunted  fat  Marsoff. 

"  Ah !  the  deuce !  I  will  take  it  at  that  price," 
cried  Claudius.  "  Will  you  make  an  exchange  ?  " 

"  No,  I  assure  you  that  I  do  not  care  to  give  it 
up,  my  good  fellow.  You  are  very  kind,  but  I  don't 
want  to  part  with  it." 

"  But,  if  one  offered  you — " 

"  Ah !  faith,  if  I  was  offered—" 

"  Three  hundred  louis,  Monsieur  Vernon,"  said 
Lord . 

"  You  overwhelm  me,  your  lordship.     How  can  I 


48  ABOUND  A  SPRING. 

resist  you  ?     Oh  !  my  poor  ivory  !     At  least  be  grate- 
ful  to  me,  my  lord !  " 

One  thing  Vernon  had  not  thought  of,  the  atten 
tion  that  his  famous  receptions  must  necessarily  at- 
tract among  fashionable  women.  If  my  memory  is 
correct,  it  was  the  Duchess  of  Blanmon  who  first  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  enter  the  cuirassier's  studio.  The 
duchess  was  not  a  woman  to  relinquish  a  plan  she 
had  long  meditated,  or  one  easily  daunted  by  difficul- 
ties. By  the  help  of  Claudius,  the  artist's  sleeping- 
room  was  transformed  into  a  little  parlor,  which  com- 
municated with  the  garden  by  an  outer  staircase ;  the 
door  leading  into  the  studio  was  replaced  by  a  cur- 
tain, and  one  fine  evening  about  midnight,  the  duchess 
arrived,  wrapped  up  like  a  conspirator,  and  followed 
— by  three  of  her  friends.  All  passed  off  smoothly ; 
unfortunately  the  frolic  of  these  aristocratic  ladies 
became  noised  abroad,  and  two  days  after,  eight  cu- 
rious persons  arrived,  coming  directly  from  the  Stabat 
of  the  Italiens,  where  they  had  agreed  to  meet.  The 
following  week,  the  little  parlor  was  as  full  as  an  egg 
and  scented  like  a  perfume  case.  All  the  ladies,  lis- 
tening eagerly,  were  grouped  before  the  curtain, 
which  they  drew  aside  by  imperceptible  degrees. 
They  pressed  and  crowded  on  each  other  as  if  in  the 
vestry  of  a  church  at  some  wedding,  restraining  their 
bursts  of  laughter  with  great  diificulty,  and  whisper- 
ing questions  to  the  master  of  the  house,  who  did  not 
know  how  to  reply,  and  found  himself  amid  these 
surroundings  like  a  lady-bug  buried  in  a  bouquet  of 
flowers. 

"  My  dear  Vernon,  you  say  that  the  tall  blonde 
yonder,  talking  to  the  ambassador,  is  Amelie  Saint- 
onge  ?  Well,  to  be  just,  she  is  extremely  beautiful 
Ah !  there  is  the  famous  Tambourine.  Good  Heav- 
ens !  my  husband  is  kissing  her  hand.  Oh !  oh !  la- 
dies, just  see  my  husband  kissing  that  horrid  Tam- 
bourine's hand,  and  with  such  an  air  ! " 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  49 

"Dear  me — what  a  pretty  creature!  Ladies,  I 
wish  I  were  a  man,  only—  It  is  funny  to  see  all  these 
jades.  When  one  thinks — " 

"  That  they  are  as  pretty  as  we." 

One  evening,  by  the  merest  chance,  the  famous 
curtain  was  drawn  aside  almost  half-way  and  remained 
so.  A  few  timid  women,  who  had  no  strength  of 
character,  vowed  that  they  would  never  again  set 
their  pretty  feet  in  Vernon's  studio,  while  others, 
bolder,  and  avowed  lovers  of  progress,  accepted  the 
fusion,  a  very  discreet  fusion,  be  it  understood,  skil- 
fully managed,  without  embarrassment  or  confusion, 
and  protected  by  the  artistic  element  which  pervaded 
the  whole  circle. 

It  is  undeniable  that  Vernon's  studio  had  a  very 
considerable  influence  upon  the  manners  of  the  times  • 
not  that  the  ex-cuirassier  was  a  man  of  genius ;  he 
was  entitled  to  no  other  merit  than  that  of  following 
his  own  impulses  and  taking  advantage  of  events  just 
at  the  right  time.  The  Duchess  of  Blanmon,  who  ia 
by  no  means  wanting  in  sense  or  intellect,  said  a  cap^ 
ital  thing  in  regard  to  this.  One  evening,  in  a  circle 
of  intimate  friends,  when  Vernon  alluded  to  certain 
matters,  and  seemed  disposed  to  claim  an  importance 
in  the  political  world  which  he  did  not  possess,  she 
turned  to  him,  and  in  the  picturesque  language  she 
was  fond  of  using,  said :  "  Be  quiet,  my  good  little 
friend,  you  are  a  convenient  tool,  nothing  more." 

Such  was  the  famous  studio  in  which  Count  de 
Manteigney  was  to  meet  the  father-in-law  he  so 
greatly  needed.  For  the  rest,  Claudius  had,  as  usual, 
given  proof  of  most  excellent  judgment  in  selecting 
Larreau. 


50  AROUND  A  SPRING. 


vn. 


The  ex-spout-maker  was  rather  inclined  to  obesity ; 
but  as  he  was  no  fool,  contrived  to  turn  his  stout 
figure  to  good  account,  and,  aided  by  the  prestige  of 
being  a  millionaire,  might  be  said  to  have  a  stately 
presence.  His  high,  bald  forehead  was  apt  to  be- 
come easily  flushed.  At  the  extremity  of  his  little 
short  arms,  which  looked  like  a  pair  of  fins,  were  two 
plump,  dimpled  hands,  which  were  usually  held 
clasped  together  on  his  white  waistcoat.  His  whole 
person  expressed  the  most  charming  good-nature. 
His  smooth  face,  rosy,  and  well  shaven,  invited  confi- 
dence, and  his  right  eye,  with  which  he  beamed  on 
society,  was  overpoweringly  benevolent,  if  I  may  so 
express  a  charm  which  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  de- 
scribe. True,  the  left  eye  somewhat  belied  its  com- 
rade's excessive  affability ;  but  he  very  rarely  opened 
it — never,  except  when  occupied  with  business  mat- 
ters. This  eye,  which  was  generally  moist,  shone 
like  a  diamond,  was  sharp  as  a  needle,  and  I  do  not 
think  it  would  be  possible  to  find  one  more  keenly 
observing,  or  better  calculated  to  search  the  most  se- 
cret thoughts  of  another.  It  was  doubtless  from  mo- 
tives of  precaution  that  he  yielded  its  remarkable 
virtues  under  the  shadow  of  his  heavy  eyelids,  there- 
by imitating  those  skilful  surgeons  who  conceal  their 
instruments  in  a  case,  and  do  not  draw  them  from 
their  covering  until  it  is  time  to  operate  upon  the 
patient. 

Only  a  very  small  number  of  persons,  compara- 
tively speaking,  were  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the 
capitalist's  left  eye;  so  that  people  in  general  felt 
most  irresistibly  attracted  towards  him.  They  were 
touched  by  seeing  a  man  of  such  enormous  wealth 
and  immense  influence  remain  so  simple  and  affable 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  51 

in  his  manners  to  every  one,  conceal  nothing  of  his 
laborious  past,  and,  most  remarkable,  carry  his  self- 
denial  so  far  as  not  to  change  his  name.  They  said 
to  themselves  :  "  Here  is  a  financier  of  the  old  school, 
such  a  man  as  one  does  not  see  now-a-days."  When 
in  society,  his  honesty,  nice  even  to  intolerance,  was 
displayed  by  constant  outbursts.  If  the  name  of 
some  famous  banker  or  well-known  merchant  were 
pronounced,  even  in  a  low  tone,  he  would  exclaim, 
interrupting  his  game  of  whist,  "That  man?  he  is  a 
rascal ! " 

And  his  brow  would  flush  so  suddenly,  he  would 
utter  the  condemnatory  word  in  such  a  sonorous 
voice,  that  the  rudeness  of  the  expression  was  par- 
doned out  of  respect  to  the  virtuous  wrath  which  in- 
spired it.  Yet  he  was  not  naturally  quick  tempered. 
Gifted  with  intellect,  calm  and  watchful  in  the  midst 
of  the  whirl  of  modern  ambitions,  terrified  by 
nothing,  he  was  capable  of  accepting  all  progress, 
whether  forward  or  backward,  provided  his  mind  and 
capital  found  an  opportunity  of  taking  part  in  it.  In 
all  sincerity,  he  was  both  democrat  and  legitimist,  no 
one  could  be  more  liberal,  and  yet  at  the  same  time 
a  most  inflexible  ruler.  He  would  have  held  up  both 
hands  to  vote  for  compulsory  instruction,  would  have 
voted  that  the  gendarmes  should  compel  every 
Frenchman  to  buy  a  grammar  and  ABC  book,  but 
on  the  express  condition  that  he,  Larreau,  should 
have  the  monopoly  of  the  sale,  and  become,  without 
any  possible  competition,  the  sole  and  only  book- 
seller in  his  country.  You  see  that  in  saying :  "  Here 
is  a  financier  of  the  old  school,  such  a  man  as  one 
does  not  see  now-a-days,"  people  judged  only  by  ap- 
pearances; scarcely  any  one  could  boast  of  being 
more  a  man  of  the  times  than  he. 

Certain  people,  to  whom  Larreau's  operations  had 
not  been  favorable,  asserted  that  he  had  no  principles, 
an  accusation  all  the  more  dangerous  because  it  must 


52  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

necessarily  be  vague,  and  leave  a  field  for  every  va- 
riety of  comment.  The  absence  of  a  standard  prin- 
ciple, which  might  serve  for  rule  and  measure,  being 
generally  felt,  each  judges  his  neighbor's  by  his  own, 
and  great  is  the  confusion  which  results.  Far  from 
being  destitute  of  principles,  Monsieur  Larreau  pos- 
sessed many  on  which  he  could  rely;  for  he  had 
carefully  tested  them  all,  lest  he  might  have  some  oc- 
casion for  regret.  Nevertheless,  if  any  one  had  com- 
pelled him — which  would  have  been  no  easy  matter — 
to  express,  in  a  few  words,  his  firmest  convictions,  he 
would  have  replied :  "  I  am  a  legitimist  and  a  Cath- 
olic." These  opinions  had  come  to  him  by  degrees, 
without  his  making  the  slightest  eifort,  and  very 
slowly.  As  his  fortune  increased,  and  he  acquired 
position  and  importance  he  felt  the  pressing  necessity 
for  surrounding  himself  with  a  more  substantial  bar- 
ricade, placing  the  structure  of  his  prosperity  under 
the  divine  protection  and  associating  Providence  in 
his  plans,  a  natural  feeling,  which  has  led  many  souls 
into  the  path  of  safety. 

Claudius  thoroughly  understood  the  wealthy  cap- 
italist ;  so,  when  he  perceived  him  among  the  throng 
that  filled  Vernon's  studio,  he  did  not  attempt  to  find 
a  plausible  reason  for  speaking  of  Count  de  Man- 
teigney,  but  went  directly  up  to  him,  and  having 
drawn  him  aside  into  a  corner,  said  abruptly : 

"  My  dear  M.  Larreau,  do  you  wish  to  have  your 
daughter  married  ?" 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  Monsieur  Claudius,  when  I 
find  a  son-in-law  who  will  suit  her — who  will  suit  us, 
you  understand." 

"  I  have  one  to  propose." 
The  rich  man  half  opened  his  left  eye. 

"  One  of  your  friends,  my  dear  Monsieur  Clau- 
dius ?" 

"  The  person  of  whom  I  speak  is  certainly  one  of 
my  friends,  and  is  utterly  ruined." 


ABOUND  A  SPRING.  53 

"  That  is  truly  a  great  recommendation  !  you  are 
in  high  spirits  this  evening,  my  dear  friend.  You 
say  that  he  is  utterly — " 

"  Oh  !  there  is  not  the  least  possible  doubt  about 
it ;  but  that  is  not  all." 

"  Make  haste,  I  am  dying  of  impatience." 

"  My  friend  has  a  great  reputation  in  Paris  as  a 
man  of  fashion — fine  manners,  great  attractions — " 

"  That  will  do  afterwards,  Monsieur  Claudius, 
afterwards ;  you  are  drawing  your  own  portrait."  ' 

"  Confess  that  I  could  not  make  a  better  begin- 
ning. Let  me  go  on.  My  friend  is  sole  heir — " 

"  Let  us.  sit  down,  my  dear  Claudius,  we  can  talk 
so  much  more  comfortably." 

"Sole  and  only  heir  of  one  of  the  noblest  names 
in  France,  and  still  possesses  the  castle  of  his  ances- 
tors, the  cradle  of  his  race,  with  towers,  precipices, 
draw-bridge,  loop-holes,  fortifications,  court-yard — a 
real  feudal  manor,  partially  in  ruins,  I  confess ;  for  I 
will  conceal  nothing  from  you.  The  estates  have 
been  sold,  but  they  can  be  bought  back  again.  Here 
is  an  escutcheon  to  re-gild,  and  you  could  not  find  one 
more  worthy  of — restoration.  In  one  word,  I  am 
speaking  of  the  count  d«e  Manteigney." 

The  capitalist  could  not  restrain  an  expression  of 
pleasure,  and  his  left  eye,  which  during  the  shoi't  con- 
versation had  been  constantly  opening  and  shutting, 
became  perfectly  quiet. 

Claudius  presented  the  two  gentlemen  to  each 
other  that  very  evening.  Four  or  five  days  after, 
Count  Jean  received  an  invitation  to  a  ball  at  the 
house  of  M.  Larreau,  who,  after  studying  the  map  of 
the  country  and  the  Guide  Joanne,  set  out  the  follow- 
ing morning  for  Virez. 

M.  Larreau  made  his  inquiries  with  skill  and  pru- 
dence, visited  every  part  of  the  country,  and  found 
means  to  pursue  his  investigations  for  three  days  with- 
out arousing  public  curiosity ;  in  short,  he  returned 


54  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

delighted,  and  showed  himself  willing  to  push  mat- 
ters forward  rapidly.  He  had  met  his  bean-ideal  of 
a  son-in-law.  In  the  meantime  the  count  discovered 
that  the  capitalist's  daughter  was  wonderfully  charm- 
ing, in  which  he  was  perfectly  right,  and  two  months 
and  a  half  after,  to  a  day,  the  future  couple  signed  the 
contract.  If  M.  de  Manteigney  had  been  less  eager 
to  escape  as  soon  as  he  decently  could,  from  a  situa- 
tion which  threatened  soon  to  become  unendurable,  it 
is  probable  that  he  would  have  thought  twice  before 
signing.  The  capitalist,  in  short,  gave  his  daughter, 
by  the  marriage  settlements,  the  most  absolute  control 
over  her  dowry,  which  was  sixteen  hundred  thousand 
francs,  six  or  eight  of  which,  by  the  aid  of  the  Virez 
notary,  were  invested  in  a  portion  of  the  estates  be- 
longing to  the  ancient  domain. 

"  By  this  means,  my  dear  count,"  said  the  rich 
man,  "  the  estates  of  Manteigne  are  almost  wholly 
restored,  and  will  descend  intact  to  your  children,  by 
the  deed  executed  by  their  mother  and  yourself.  The 
portion  of  the  valley  I  have  purchased  in  my  own 
name,  and  retain,  will  return  to  the  original  domains 
after  my  death.  I  adore  my  daughter,  and  hope  soon 
to  win  your  affection.  You  see  that  I  am  already  an 
old  man,  and  I  have  cherished  the  hope  that  it  might 
not  be  disagreeable  to  you  to  have  me  for  a  neighbor. 
I  shall  have  erected  on  the  reserved  estate — and  it  is 
the  secret  of  its  purchase — a  little  house,  hut,  chalet, 
no  matter  what,  where  I  can  end  my  days  in  the  shad- 
ow of  your  chateau.  My  tastes  are  very  simple" — 
After  a  short  silence,  he  continued:  "  Unless  you 
would  receive  me  in  any  of  the  wings  of  your  own 
dwelling — in  which  case,  my  dear  son-in-law,  I  should 
beg  you  to  allow  me  to  defray  all  expense  of  the  ne- 
cessary refitting.  Perhaps  by  uniting  our  incomes, 
we  could  maintain  an  establishment  more  worthy  of 
the  name  you  bear.  It  would  make  me  very  happy, 
I  confess ;  it  would  be  a  real  pleasure  to  me  in  my 
old  age  to  be  present  in  some  corner,  and  witness 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  55 

the  splendor  of  the  princely  style  in  which  the  ar- 
rangement I  propose  would  enable  yon  to  live.  Do 
not  hasten  to  answer  either  yes  or  no,  my  dear  count, 
reflect  upon  the  matter." 

Mile.  Larreau  embraced  her  father  with  tears  in 
her  eyes.  The  young  man,  dazzled  by  the  vision  of 
the  elegant  style  in  which  he  might  be  able  to  live ; 
intoxicated  by  the  realization  of  a  dream  which  flat- 
tered all  his  tastes ;  persuaded  that  he  would  soon 
be  able  to  control  a  father-in-law  who  seemed  so  full 
of  good  nature ;  impatient  to  have  done  with  the  life 
of  expedients  which  he  had  led  for  ten  or  twelve  years, 
.appealed  to  on  the  ground  of  his  gentlemanly  instincts, 
accepted  everything,  signed  everything,  and  was  mar- 
ried with  the  utmost  cheerfulness.  There  was  no- 
thing better  to  be  done. 


vm. 

Yet  when  Abbe  Roche  had  returned  home  and 
exchanged  his  new  cassock  and  handsome  silver  buck- 
les for  his  every-day  dress,  he  experienced  a  sensation 
of  great  relief.  His  mind  was  disturbed,  like  that  oi 
a  man  who  has  just  awakened  from  a  confused  dream. 
Everything  about  his  visit  to  the  chateau  appeared 
strange  and  incomprehensible,  and  occupied  his 
thoughts  more  than  he  could  have  wished.  There- 
fore, when  mere  Hilaire  questioned  him  about  the 
welcome  they  had  given  him,  he  said  nothing,  excep^ 
that  he  had  been  well  received,  and  the  good  woman 
kept  silent. 

At  times  he  imagined  that  there  wTas  an  impassa- 
ble gulf  between  these  gentlemen,  whom  he  had 
scarcely  seen,  and  himself;  he  experienced  an  instinct- 
ive repugnance  towards  them,  which  he  regretted  so 
much  the  more  because  it  seemed  to  be  in  direct 
contradiction  to  the  profound  respect  with  which  he 


53  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

had  always  regarded  the  nobility.  On  farther  reflec- 
tion, he  asked  himself  whether  this  impression  was 
not,  on  his  part,  the  result  of  undue  pride ;  whether 
the  surprise  of  suddenly  finding  himself  in  contact 
with  scenes  of  comfort  and  luxury,  which  made  his 
own  life  appear  more  narrow  and  humble  by  the  con- 
trast, had  not  rendered  him  too  severe  in  his  judg- 
ment upon  these  people  of  aristocratic  birth,  whose 
only  crime,  after  all,  was  playing  hot  cockles  without 
caring  what  people  might  say  about  it.  Although  he 
clearly  perceived  that  his  first  impression  was  the  cor- 
rect one,  he  argued  against  himself  with  a  species  of 
obstinacy.  Did  he  wish  these  ladies  to  dress  exactly 
like  the  girls  and  Avomen  of  Grand  Fort  ?  Why  was 
it  surprising  that  the  countess  should  treat  her  cure 
with  ease  and  freedom,  or  that  she  should  be  as  curi- 
ous as  a  spoiled  child  to  make  this  half  savage  talk, 
and  amuse  herself  by  witnessing  his  embarrassment? 
What  was  there  so  very  strange  about  her  careless 
chatter  ?  She  was  young,  rich,  and  noble  enough  to 
allow  herself  to  act  her  own  pleasure  before  a  poor, 
unknown  priest.  It  is  certain  that  she  was  wonder- 
fully beautiful,  and  very  singularly  dressed;  but  what 
did  he  know  about  customs  and  fashions,  and  since 
when  had  ladies  of  high  rank  been  forbidden  to  be 
remarkably  beautiful  ?  Besides,  why  had  he,  the  cure 
of  Grand  Fort,  noticed  all  these  things  with  so  much 
interest  and  curiosity  ?  Was  it  in  accordance  with  his 
position  as  a  priest  to  linger  around  these  earthly 
charms,  wrhich  God  had  commanded  him  to  pass  by 
with  indifference  ?  Was  he  then  so  weak,  so  ex- 
tremely impressionable,  that  a  woman  could  disturb 
his  mind  and  occupy  his  thoughts?  He  told  himself 
all  this,  was  humiliated,  dissatisfied,  indignant  with 
himself;  then  wishing  to  obtain  an  exact  knowledge 
of  his  weakness,  in  order  to  correct  it  the  better,  re- 
called one  by  one  the  impressions  he  had  felt;  and 
all  the  details  of  what  he  had  seen  passed  once  more 


AEOUND  A  SPRING.  57 

before  his  eyes,  while  in  the  depths  of  his  soul,  some 
unknown  voice  murmured  :  "  You  have  humiliated 
yourself  enough  before  the  memory  of  these  people. 
You  are  more  noble  than  they,  even  in  your  shabby 
cassock ;  you  will  soon  read  their  hearts  and  find 
naught  but  a  mass  of  wicked  passions  and  vicious  in- 
stincts, while  if  they  seek  to  watch  you  in  their  turn, 
they  will  not  be  able  to  understand  your  thoughts 
and  actions." 

To  be  brief,  the  abbe  Roche  did  not  return  to  the 
chateau  for  several  days,  and  even  avoided  passing  its 
doors.  Once  he  met  the  countess's  father,  and  on  an- 
other occasion  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the 
count  and  his  friend  Claudius,  in  the  village  streets ; 
but  he  contented  himself  with  exchanging  bows,  and 
found  means  to  cut  short  all  conversation.  These 
people  terrified  him. 

At  last  Sunday  came,  and  from  early  morning  the 
cure,  thinking  of  the  mass  he  was  to  perform,  felt,  in 
spite  of  his  resolutions,  as  much  agitated  as  on  the 
day  of  his  visit.  He  knew  that  the  noble  company 
would  attend  church;  he  saw  in  imagination  their 
amused  faces,  the  count's  eye-glass,  his  father-in-law's 
white  waistcoat,  and  the  important,  self-sufficient  air 
of  all.  Would  the  ladies  appear  at  mass  in  a, costume 
like  the  one  they  wore  the  other  evening  ?  He  shud- 
dered in  spite  of  himself.  How  would  they,  accus- 
tomed to  recline  in  those  immense  arm-chairs,  which 
almost  resembled  beds,  endure  to  sit  on  the  narrow, 
hard,  wooden  benches  ?  Were  they  even  clean  and 
well  dusted  ?  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  thought 
of  these  things. 

His  poor  church  was  so  dilapidated,  so  forlorn,  en- 
cumbered with  ex  voto  and  strange  adornments!  Ap- 
preciating the  artless  feeling  which  offered  them,  he 
had  thought  them  poetical  and  touching;  would  they 
not  appear  very  comical  to  these  jesting  Parisians, 


58  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

who  were  accustomed  to  the  stately  ceremonies  of 
the  cities  ? 

This  disturbed  him  more  than  all  the  rest;  lie 
loved  his  poor  church  so  much  !  Pre-occupied  by 
these  thoughts,  he  found  his  razors  horribly  dull,  and 
rubbed  them  upside  down  on  the  leathern  strap  fast- 
ened to  the  handle  of  the  door.  "  Monsieur  le  cure, 
do  you  know  that  it  is  twenty  minutes  of  nine  V " 
asked  mere  Hilaire,  knocking  at  the  door. 

"  Yes,  good  mother,  I  know  it.  You  can  come 
in.  Have  you  seen  whether  the  benches  in  the  church 
were  clean  enough  ?  " 

The  good  woman  smiled,  pleased  that  she  should 
have  thought  of  the  same  thing  as  her  cure.  "  I  have 
just  given  them  a  little  dusting ;  they  are  very  nice 
now;  but  dear  me  !  they  are  old,  and  terribly  hard 
for  all  these  grand  people,  M.  le  cure.  I  said  to  my- 
self: '  If  something  could  only  be  put  over  them ' — 
you  will  not  be  angry,  M.  le  cure.  -People  must  not 
be  driven  away  from  the  house  of  God,  you  know. 
Well !  I  have  a  little  bit  of  carpet  that  is  just  the 
thing;  I  have  shaken  and  brushed  it  well.  I  might 
spread  it  on  the  bench,  if  you  think  it  would  be  a  good 
plan." 

"  You  have  done  well,  mere  Hilaire,  but  I  have 
also  a  little  mat  before  my  bed,  you  might  spread 
them  both  on.  It  would  be  better  for  the  ladies." 

Abb6  lioche  stopped  short ;  he  was  vexed  that 
he  should  allow  himself  to  be  pre-occupied  by  such 
trivial  cares  when  about  to  say  mass. 

When  he  entered  the  vestry,  the  acolytes  were 
dressed,  the  choristers  ready,  and  all  his  parishioners 
waiting  on  the  square.  It  was  nine  o'clock,  and  yet 
pere  Butan  dared  not  stop  ringing,  that  the  services 
might  begin,  for  no  one  from  the  chateau  had  arrived. 
Two  or  three  boys,  who  had  played  truant,  muttered : 
"  I  would  stop  ringing,  if  I  were  you,"  but  everybody 
else  said,  "  Pere  Butan  is  right,  we  must  not  make 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  59 

the  count  and  countess  lose  the  mass."  Fortunately 
for  every  one,  and  especially  the  cur6,  who  was  wait- 
ing to  begin  the  service,  looking  out  of  the  little  win- 
dow of  the  vestry  and  thinking  that  it  was  very  hard 
to  be  forced  to  keep  God  waiting  in  this  manner,  a 
child  ran  up,  saying  that  the  ladies  and  gentlemen 
were  coming.  The  crowd  instinctively  divided,  form- 
ing in  two  ranks,  and  the  aristocratic  party  entered 
the  little  square. 

The  ladies,  dressed  a  la  Watteau's  shepherdesses, 
were  leaning  on  long  flexible  staffs,  and  seemed  to  be 
so  exhausted  by  the  little  slope  they  had  just  ascend- 
ed, that  they  could  scarcely  stand  upon  their  high- 
heeled  boots.  They  had  been  obliged  to  cross  on 
foot  the  short  space  intervening  between  the  chateau 
and  the  village,  for  that  portion  of  the  road  had  not 
yet  been  finished  and  made  passable  for  carnages. 
But  the  expedition  had  been  cheerfully  performed,  if 
one  could  judge  by  their  shouts  of  laughter.  When 
they  perceived  that  the  square  was  full  of  people,  the 
three  ladies,  who  were  walking  in  front,  suddenly 
stopped.  "  Ah !  countess,  see  these  worthy  people 
taking  off  their  caps,"  said  Mme.  de  Rougeon,  "  they 
are  waiting  for  us." 

"  Really  it  is  quite  a  triumphal  entry !  What 
honest,  respectful  faces  they  have !  Look,  dear,  see 
all  these  little  children.  Oh  !  I  am  going  to  pray. for 
them,  it  is  the  least  I  can  do." 

"  They  are  pretty  little  things,"  said  Mile,  de  Rou- 
geon, "  but  they  don't  wipe  their  noses  often  enough." 

During  this  time  pere  Butan  was  pulling  at  the 
rope  with  all  his  might,  and  the  poor  bell  tinkled  its 
best,  like  some  old  singer  who  has  lost  his  voice  and 
has  nothing  left  but  a  good  style. 

All  heads  were  bent,  and  the  countess,  moving 
slowly  through  her  respectful  vassals,  bowed  slightly 
to  the  right  and  left,  murmuring  in  an  undertone: 
"  Good-morning,  my  friends — my  good  friends;  good- 


60  AROUND  A  SPUING. 

day,  little  ones."  She  enjoyed  it  thoroughly,  and 
strangely  enough,  thought  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne, 
where  she  had  often  seen  a  stately  head  bending  in 
little  graceful,  sweeping  salutes. 

The  count  followed  directly  behind  the  ladies, 
talking  very  eagerly  in  a  loud  tone  to  M.  de  Rou- 
geon,  without  taking  the  slightest  notice  of  the  per- 
sons standing  by,  and  gesticulating  with  his  little 
switch  like  a  man  engrossed  in  some  important  argu- 
ment. As  to  M.  Larreau,  he  was  watching  his  dear 
little  countess  with  his  right  eye,  and  ready  to  bless 
the  whole  population.  Two  or  three  closely-shaven 
servants,  stiff,  erect,  and  unapproachable,  closed  the 
procession. 

The  cure"  had  donned  his  priestly  robes  long  be- 
fore. Alas  !  they  were  shabby,  well  worn,  and  much 
frayed  in  certain  places.  It  was  all  in  vain  that  poor 
mere  Hilaire,  first  washing  her  hands,  Avrapped  them 
carefully  in  a  white  cloth  every  Sunday ;  she  could 
not  rejuvenate  the  old  garments.  While  in  the  ves- 
try, whose  door  stood  open,  Abb6  Roche  heard  the 
rustling  of  silken  robes,  the  sound  of  delicate  boots, 
and  the  confused  murmur  of  Parisian  voices.  His 
ear  distinguished  all  this  in  spite  of  the  noise  made 
by  the  sabots  and  iron-shod  shoes  striking  against 
the  floor,  and  knocking  the  benches.  He  clasped  his 
hands,  closed  his  eyes,  strove  to  abstract  his  thoughts, 
murmured  fervent  prayers,  and  reproached  himself 
for  his  want  of  self-command,  as  if  it  had  been  a 
crime.  At  last,  as  they  were  now  waiting  only  for 
him,  he  made  a  signal  for  the  acolytes  to  move  for- 
ward, and  entered  the  church. 

He  was  obliged  to  summon  up  all  his  courage  in 
order  to  advance  the  eight  or  ten  paces  which  separa- 
ted him  from  the  altar,  so  great  was  the  singular  emo- 
tion he  experienced.  He  had  determined  not  to  glance 
towards  the  congregation,  and  kept  his  resolution. 
But  he  dimly  saw  the  kneeling  ladies  looking  around 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  Gl 

them  through  their  eye-glasses,  and  smiling  at  each 
other,  while  the  gentlemen,  with  one  hand  thrust  into 
their  vests,  whispered  and  twirled  their  mustaches. 
On  reaching  the  steps,  he  knelt,  and  in  a  voice  that 
trembled  more  than  he  could  have  wished,  commen- 
ced the  Introit,  but  soon  grew  calmer,  as  his  up-raised 
glance  rested  upon  the  crucifix  that  surmounted  the 
altar ;  his  blood  flowed  more  slowly  through  his 
veins,  and  he  forgot  all  who  surrounded  him.  The 
wooden  Christ  was  a  very  shapeless  thing,  one  might 
almost  have  supposed  that  it  had  been  carved  by 
some  herdsman's  knife,  and  it  was  covered  Avith  coarse, 
gaudy  paint.  Yet  before  this  rude  image  the  poor, 
solitary  priest,  destitute  of  family  and  friends,  deprived 
of  all  that  was  claimed  by  the  secret  instincts  of  his 
nature,  had  passed  the  sweetest  hours  of  his  life. 
He  knew  every  detail  of  the  carving,  so  grotesque  to 
others,  so  sacred  to  him.  Each  crack,  each  fracture 
of  the  worm-eaten  wood,  reminded  him  of  some  heart 
throb,  a  prayer,  a  tear,  or  a  joy.  Thus  even  those  ob- 
jects least  worthy  of  attention  become  poetical  and 
dear  to  the  man  who  has  lavished  his  affection  upon 
them.  What  do  you  care  for  the  cut  of  the  garment, 
the  wrinkles  on  the  countenance  of  the  friend  that 
holds  out  his  hand  to  you,  listens  to  you,  and  consoles 
.you?  His  unassuming  appearance,  on  the  contrary, 
invites  your  confidence,  his  plain  face  re-assures  you, 
you  love  him  all  the  more  because  strangers  do  not 
consider  him  attractive  ;  his  charms  are  a  secret,  pos- 
sessed by  you  alone.  The  priest  was  touched  by  the 
thought  that  the  good  God  of  Grand  Fort  had  made 
Himself  poor  and  miserable,  despoiled  Himself  of  His 
divine  splendor,  that  He  might  be  better  understood 
by  His  children,  and  had  descended  to  their  level 
through  paternal  tenderness.  His  heart,  which  was 
overflowing  with  repressed  feeling,  suddenly  opened, 
he  dared  to  speak,  to  confide  everything  to  the  good 
God  who  watched  over  the  mountains,  and  after  these 


62  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

unreserved  outpourings  of  his  soul,  he  felt  strength- 
ened and  purified  ;  he  breathed  invigorating  air,  saw 
society  under  a  loftier  aspect,  a  divine  glow  animated 
him;  he  had  a  consciousness  of  being  nearer  that  fire 
of  love  of  which  human  affections  are  but  the  dying 
sparks.  It  was  before  this  defaced  fragment  of  wood 
that  he  had  comprehended  the  grandeur  and  noble- 
ness of  his  mission,  and  had  accepted  his  austere  life 
frankly  and  cheerfully.  He  then  believed  his  soul  to 
be  large  enough  to  contain  all  humanity;  thought 
himself  sufficiently  bold  and  courageous  to  be  the 
pilot,  who  watches  in  spite  of  fatigue,  and  forgets 
wind  and  rain  in  the  remembrance  that  the  safety  of 
those  who  sleep  depends  upon  his  vigilance  and  de- 
votion. The  sacrifice  had  appeared  to  him  a  triumph, 
and  the  suffering  a  consolation. 

When,  at  the  close  of  the  mass,  the  cure  turned 
to  address  a  few  words  to  the  congregation,  as  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  doing  every  Sunday,  the  countess  was 
astonished  at  the  expression  of  his  face,  the  searching 
tones  of  his  voice,  the  brightness  of  his  glance,  and 
the  simplicity  of  his  gestures. 

He  was  really  handsome.  "  Our  cur6  preaches 
admirably,"  murmured  Mine,  de  Kougeon,  as  they 
left  the  church. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  countess.  "  I  do  not  under- 
stand it ;  and  I  have  been  wondering  how  he  chanced 
to  be  cast  ashore  upon  this  desolate  rock,  hi  this  out- 
of-the- world,  almost  savage,  village." 

"  He  is  perhaps  undergoing  a  penance — ecclesias- 
tical discipline — " 

"  What  an  idea  !  " 

"  It  does  not  follow  that  he  has  committed  any 
very  great  crime.  What  are  considered  merely  tri- 
fling errors  in  our  circle,  are  regarded  in  others  as  un- 
pardonable crimes — some  affair  of  the  heart  for  in- 
stance." 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  63 

"  You  are  right,  his  face  tells  the  story  plainly 
enough.  Ah  !  poor  man  !  " 

"  Unfortunate  priest ! " 

"  I  must  leave  you  a  moment.  Perhaps  we  shall 
find  means  to  learn  his  story  some  day.  I  am  going 
to  invite  M.  le  cure"  to  breakfast,  I  am  sure  that  he 
will  not  refuse  me." 

Abbe  Roche  in  truth  could  find  no  pretext  for  de- 
clining Mme.  de  Manteigney's  invitation,  and  half  an 
hour  afterwards  found  himself  installed  in  the  great 
dining-room  of  the  castle. 


IX. 

The  breakfast  was  delightful,  although  much  less 
noisy  than  usual.  The  ladies  showed  the  cure  the 
most  gracious  attentions,  and  overwhelmed  him  with 
little  kindnesses.  His  noble  bearing  at  the  altar,  his 
simple,  manly  carriage,  had  evidently  produced  a 
great  effect.  The  dilapidated  church  was  declared  to 
be  delightful,  in  spite  of  the  opinion  of  the  gentlemen 
Avho  exchanged  smiling  glances.  They  could  not 
look  without  emotion  at  the  rude  pictures,  the  ex  voto 
hanging  on  the  walls  ;  the  recollection  of  the  brave 
mountaineers  kneeling  bareheaded  in  the  porch,  drew 
tears  from  their  eyes.  Even  the  voices  of  the  choris- 
ters, though  somewhat  harsh  and  untrained,  had  a 
meaning. 

"  For  my  part,"  observed  Mme.  de  Rougeon,  "  I 
imagine  that  that  must  have  been  the  way  that  God 
was  worshipped  in  the  catacombs." 

•"  Take  a  little  of  the  vanilla  cream,  dear  Monsieur 
le  cur6,"  said  the  countess,  "  you  will  not  refuse  a  new 
parishioner." 

And  the  young  wife,  holding  back  with  her  left 
hand  the  numerous  trinkets  dangling  from  little  gold- 
en chains  among  the  laces  that  adorned  her  sleeve, 
ottered  her  neighbor  on  the  right  a  pretty  little  heap 


64  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

of  perfumed  cream  in  a  silver-gilt  spoon.  Arin,  sleeve, 
hand,  spoon,  and  cream,  were  all  bewitching,  some- 
what too  bewitching,  if  one  may  say  so  without  wound- 
ing any  one,  for  Abbe  Roche,  on  perceiving  the 
charming  little  picture,  turned  away  his  eyes,  and  an- 
swered gravely  :  "  Thank  you,  I  will  not  take  any." 

"Must  I  tell  you  I  made  it  myself  in  order  to 
tempt  you  ?  Well !  I  won't  say  that,  for  I  did  not 
do  it,  but  the  cream  is  none  the  less  nice.  Come, 
Monsieur  le  cure,  take  it  to  please  me." 

The  cure  accepted  what  was  offered  with  a  very 
perceptible  blush.  The  idea  of  a  serious  man  blush- 
ing so  easily  !  Ah !  well,  perhaps  if  you  had  been  in 
his  place  you  would  have  changed  color  too.  Mme. 
de  Manteigney  had,  in  truth,  gazed  at  him  with  an  ex- 
pression well  calculated  to  disturb  his  mind  :  not  that 
she  was  capable  of  premeditated  coquetry — in  these 
delicate  matters  one  must  first  of  all  understand  one's 
self;  but  she  had  thought  her  own  hand,  holding  the 
golden  spoon,  a  very  pretty  sight,  it  was  an  artistic 
pleasure  which  all  women  know. 

She  had  naturally  smiled  at  her  hand,  rather  than 
the  cure",  and  if  it  had  been  unnecessarily  sweet,  it 
was  merely  owing  to  the  unusual  delight  afforded  by 
the  sight  of  her  own  charms. 

Yet  the  countess  knew  that  the  good  abbe  might 
misunderstand  her  meaning ;  for  she  was  seized  with 
one  of  those  little  fits  of  coughing  which,  without  dis- 
figuring you,  permit  you  to  withdraw  a  moment  from 
conversation.  It  is  a  very  difficult  thing  for  a  pretty 
woman  to  observe  all  the  shades  of  amiability ;  they 
allow  themselves  to  be  borne  along  by  the  spirit  of 
improvisation,  and  when  the  charm  of  being  attrac- 
tive leads  them  on,  easily  lose  all  discrimination  ;  the 
slope  is  so  slippery. 

Coquetry  has  this  peculiarity,  that  it  is  sufficient 
for  itself:  it  forgets  the  public,  tor  it  can  do  without 
it;  and  a  woman  who  seems  bent  on  our  neighbors 
destruction,  who  has  brought  a  whole  arsenal  into  ac- 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  05 

tion,  has  really  no  other  intention  than  to  try  her 
weapons  and  renew  her  cannon,  so  that  you  will  rarely 
see  a  woman — I  mean  a  woman  who  has  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  attractive — distribute  to  each  one  the 
modicum  of  favor  that  is  his  due.  With  a  priest,  es- 
pecially, the  just  proportion  is  more  difficult  to  pre- 
serve on  account  of  his  invulnerability ;  and  the  ab- 
sence of  sex,  which  is  morally  one  of  his  privileges, 
gives  them  a  sort  of  carte  blanche.  The  certainty  that 
nothing  will  be  broken,  tempts  beginners  in  the  art 
of  shooting  to  try  their  skill — they  like  to  fire  at  a 
strong  black-board,  which  is  too  solid  to  be  broken, 
and  yet  capable  of  showing  the  shots  it  receives,  and 
bear  record  of  their  successes.  So,  granting  what  I 
have  just  said,  is  it  surprising  that  the  countess,  at 
sight  of  her  plump,  taper  fingers,  should  have  yielded 
to  the  temptation  of  making  her  smile  as  charming  as 
her  hand,  and  afterwards,  by  a  scarcely  perceptible 
manoeuvre,  have  raised  the  perfumed  fingers  that  held 
the  spoon  within  two  inches  of  her  cur6's  nose,  as  he 
bowed  his  thanks.  The  singularity  is,  under  such 
circumstances,  the  smile  is  not  all.  By  some  unknown 
sympathetic  influence  the  eyelids  droop  coquettishly, 
the  glance  softens,  the  neck  bends,  and  the  body  sways 
with  unexpected  grace,  and  that  is  how  it  happens, 
that,  in  the  best  society,  a  spoonful  of  vanilla  cream 
may  lead  to  very  serious  consequences.  Fortunately 
these  little  accidents  are  readily  pardoned  among  peo- 
ple who  lead  a  fashionable  life. 

Abb6  Roche  pardoned  it  also,  but  he  was  much 
disturbed.  At  certain  crises  strange  temptations — 
why  should  it  not  be  confessed  ? — had  risen  before 
him ;  he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  bewildering,  fright- 
ful phantoms ;  he  had  been  tormented,  poor  man,  as 
one  is  in  some  dream  or  threatening  nightmare,  but 
all  had  been  a  mere  fleeting  hallucination,  which  dis- 
appeared in  the  broad  light  of  day.  Confronted  with 
charms  whose  too  evident  reality  aroused  the  memo- 
ry of  his  former  conflicts,  he  felt  the  danger  to  be  a 
5 


CG  ABOUND  A  SPRING. 

thousand  times  greater  than  before.  He  had  judged 
the  world  as  a  whole,  and  from  a  distance;  but  he 
who  surveys  a  battle  from  a  mountain,  and  comes 
forth  victorious  in  imagination,  would  certainly  have 
far  less  coolness  and  courage  if  he  descended  from 
his  height  and  mingled  with  the  combatants.  It  was 
now  with  him  as  it  would  be  with  that  man  ;  he  no 
longer  hovered  over  the  brow  of  the  mountain,  but 
felt  that  he  Avas  entering  into  the  reality  of  the  strug- 
gle, and  feared  that  he  might  lose  his  self-command 
in  the  melee.  Already  the  view  was  becoming  less 
clear :  was  he  not  taking  the  trifling  details  of  a  life 
with  which  he  was  unfamiliar  for  monsters  ?  Was  he 
the  sport  of  a  delusion  ?  Why  should  he  have  these 
tremors,,  whose  cause  he  no  longer  dared  to  frankly 
ask  himself?  The  more  he  listened,  the  less  he  un- 
derstood the  meaning  of  their  words;  certain  jests 
which  roused  a  smile  were  utterly  unintelligible  to 
him.  The  very  gestures  of  his  hosts  had  an  incom- 
prehensible peculiarity ;  the  tones  of  their  voices, 
their  mode  of  constructing  sentences,  every  thing 
about  them  was  strange  to  him.  If  by  chance  he  un- 
derstood one  of  their  ideas,  he  found  it  so  different 
from  his  own  that  he  would  have  preferred  to  have 
still  remained  in  ignorance. 

"Is  not  my  cream  delicious,  Monsieur  Iecur6?  " 
murmured  Mme.  de  Mauteigney,  casting  an  inquiring 
glance  at  the  priest,  for  she  was  saying  to  herself:  "  I 
am  going  to  have  some  fine  sport  in  finding  out  what 
sort  of  a  person  this  good  abbe  really  is." 

"  Excellent,"  he  replied,  without  raising  his  eyes 
from  his  plate ;  then  drew  his  feet  closer  together 
lest  his  neighbor's  dress  might  brush  against  them. 
"  Incomprehensible  creature,"  he  murmured,  "  what  is 
she  hiding  within  her  soul ;  from  whence  come  these 
bewildering  charms  ?  Can  it  be  a  trial  by  which  God 
is  testing  me  ?  " 

"  Tell  me,  Monsieur  le  cure,  how  do  you  warm 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  67 

your  church  in  winter?"  asked  Mme.  de  Rougeon, 
rolling  a  tiny  crumb  of  bread  under  the  tip  of  her 
finger. 

"  My  wife  is — -what  shall  I  say  ? — a  singular  wo- 
man. She  always  fancies  herself  at  the  church  of  the 
Madeleine  or  Saint  Thomas  Aquinas.  Do  you  ex- 
pect to  find  all  the  refinements  of  our  peculiar  civili- 
zation in  this  wild  region,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Papa  is  right,"  interrupted  his  young  daughter, 
without  the  slightest  ceremony.  "  This  civilization 
is  horrible ! " 

Abb<§  Roche  looked  at  Mile,  de  Rougeon ;  he  was 
amazed  that  at  her  age  she  should  have  so  decided 
an  opinion  upon  such  a  matter. 

"  True,  my  daughter,  we  are  living  in  .a  circle 
which  is  dele — " 

"  Yes,  papa,  deleterious." 

"  Deleterious,  certainly,  and  which,  if  I  may  dare 
to  say  so,  is  the  negation  of  all — of  all — " 

"  Yes,  papa,  of  all  principles." 

And  as  the  guests  all  burst  into  shouts  of  laugh- 
ter, except  the  priest,  who  looked  on  in  astonishment, 
she  added,  pushing  back  the  long  earrings  which 
touched  her  shoulders  :  "  Papa  dictates,  and  I  arrange 
his  ideas  in  words.  That  is  why  I  think  him  right ; 
so,  to  preserve  him  from  the  deleterious  air  of  Paris, 
I  shall  make  him  go  to  bed  at  five  minutes  of  eight 
and  give  him  some  tisane.  No  more  balls  at  the  Ho- 
tel de  Ville ;  no  more  races ;  no,  that  is  all  at  an  end  ; 
no  more  races  !  Those  are  also  deleterious  circles  ! 
No  more  pere  Hyacinthe,  no  more  clubs,  no  skating, 
no  anything ;  instead,  nice  hot  tisane  with  honey  in 
moderate  quantities;  we  will  read  the  philosophers 
among  ourselves,  and  if  papa  wishes  to  escape,  cling 
to  him  and  keep  him  with  us." 

While  the  young  girl  spoke,  Abbe  Roche  looked, 
at  her  intently.  He  was  not  only  surprised,  but 
grieved. 


G8  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

"  The  unhappy  child."  said  he  to  himself.  "What 
crime  can  this  man,  who  looks  old  before  his  time, 
have  committed,  to  be  thus  punished  by  his  daugh- 
ter's contempt  ?  How  he  must  suffer !  What  idea 
do  they  give  others  of  paternal  dignity,  filial  respect 
and  love  ?  Must  one  be  deprived  of  family  ties  in 
order  to  appreciate  their  value  ?" 

"  Well !  "  continued  Mile,  de  Rougeon,  "  I  have  a 
still  more  attractive  programme." 

"  More  of  your  nonsense,  spoiled  child  ! " 

"  Oh  !  it  is  a  very  simple  matter :  we  will  stay 
here  all  the  year  round.  M.  de  Manteigney  shall  let 
us  one  of  his  little  towers,  and  we  can  live  in  it,  far 
away  from  the  demon  of  civilization.  I  will  cut  off 
my  hair,  mamma  hers,  and  papa  his,  it  will  only  be 
the  work  of  a  moment;  we  will  put  on  little  caps 
trimmed  with  a  bit  of  embroidery,  and  as  the  church 
is  not  heated,  order  foot-stoves  that  we  can  go  and 
sing  at  matins.  M.  le  cure"  will  be  so  pleased.  Papa 
can  be  bass.  Ah !  that's  not  a  bad  idea,  is  it  mamma  ? " 

"  Your  youth  and  gayety  are  some  apology  for  you, 
my  love,  but  yet — think  my  child — " 

"  If  mamma  is  going  to  begin  to  preach  like  pa- 
pa!— oh!  dear." 

"  My  daughter,  you  are  going  beyond  all — " 

"  Yes,  papa,  bounds.  I  am  to  be  silent  because 
papa  wants  to  talk." 

"  Yes,  I  do  wish  to  speak,  little  rebel !  Oh !  be- 
cause I  laugh,  you  think  I  am  jesting.  That  is  the 
way  with  our  children  !  Family  respect,  authority — 
in  short  everything  ;  everything  —  tradition  —  I 
laugh,  because  you  are  looking  at  me  with  your  lit- 
tle— your  little  saucy  air,  you  spoiled  child  ;  that  is 
of  consequence;  I  am  —  I  am  —  the  word  escapes 
me — I  am  right." 

"  Well !  for  my  part  I  think  you  were  much  more 
agreeable  when  you  were  wrong,"  observed  the  count. 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  69 

"  You  are  not  at  all  amusing  with  your  deleterious 
age  ?  Where  did  you  learn  all  that  stuff? " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  the  moral  is — " 

"  Well,  there  he  goes  again.  It  is  not  more  than 
two  years  since  I  first  noticed  this  infirmity  in  poor 
de  Rougeon  ;  he  used  to  be  a  charming  man." 

"  It  is  evident  that  they  do  not  use  the  word 
moral  in  its  ordinary  sense,"  thought  Abbe  Roche, 
who  had  been  very  ill  at  ease  during  a  conversation 
so  utterly  incomprehensible  to  him. 

"If  that's  the  way  you  are  going  to  attack  papa. 
I  shall  defend  him,"  cried  the  young  girl,  with  a  very 
pretty  show  of  anger. 

"  Good  Heavens !  that  child  must  be  crazy,"  mur- 
mured the  priest. 

Mme.  de  Manteigney,  perceiving  that  Abb6 
Roche's  manner  was  becoming  more  and  more  con- 
strained, suddenly  changed  the  conversation.  "  My 
dear  cure,  tell  us  who  is  that  singular  looking  person 
who  has  already  been  here  two  or  three  times.  Where 
does  he  go,  and  from  whence  does  he  come  ?  Is  he 
a  human  being  ?  He  has  a  huge  beard,  half  red,  half 
gray,  eyes  like  a  rat,  and  a  nose  that  looks  like  the  beak 
of  some  bird  of  prey ;  his  clothes  are  all  gray,  just 
the  color  of  the  rocks.  Oh !  he  is  such  an  ugly  man. 
I  will  add  that  he  always  carries  a  basket  of  cheeses. 
I  am  afraid  of  him." 

"  You  undoubtedly  mean  pere  Loursiere,  Madame. 
Your  fears  are  exaggerated,  I  think,  though  in  his 
youth  he  committed  some  faults  for  which  he  has 
reason  to  reproach  himself.  His  life  has  been  an  ad- 
venturous one  ;  he  has  been  occupied  in  various  pur- 
suits, and  travelled  hi  almost  every  part  of  the  world ; 
but  at  the  present  time  I  do  not  know  that  any  thing 
very  serious  could  be  alleged  against  him.  He  is  a 
shepherd,  and  watches  the  flocks  which  the  people 
of  the  village  and  market-town  confide  to  his  charge, 
that  they  may  graze  upon  the  lofty  mountain  pas- 


70  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

tures.  He  lives  with  his  daughter  in  a  lonely  hut  on 
the  edge  of  the  pine  woods." 

"  What !  is  the  little  savage  who  also  comes  here 
occasionally  his  daughter?  The  strange  creature 
with  the  large,  deep  eyes,  muddy  complexion,  and 
slow  gait ! " 

"  She  lost  her  mother  at  the  time  of  her  birth, 
poor  child." 

"  Ah !  she  must  have  been  grown  up  ever  since 
she  was  born,  the  little  witch,"  murmured  Claudius. 

"  I  think  so  too,"  said  the  count. 

And  Mme.  de  Manteigney,  repressing  a  slight 
shiver,  asked : 

"Isn't  that  ugly  man  something  of  a  sorcerer 
himself?  " 

"  There  has  been  such  a  rumor,"  said  the  priest, 
smiling ;  "  but  his  principal  distinction  lies  in  making 
very  good  cheeses,  and  I  do  not  think  he  has  any 
other." 

"  Excuse  me,  Monsieur  le  cure,  he  is  a  remarkably 
intelligent  man,  and  has  a  great  deal  of  information. 
I  have  talked  with  him,  and  especially  in  geology — " 

"  So  you  understand  geology,  Monsieur  Larreau  ?  " 
asked  Claudius. 

"  I  ?  not  much — a  little,  just  sufficient  to  amuse 
myself,  and  judge  of  pere  Loursiere's — " 

The  countess  rose,  interrupting  her  father  : 

"  Don't  say  any  more  about  that  hateful  family,  I 
beg  of  you ;  they  frighten  me — I  dreamed  of  them 
all  last  night." 

"  Indeed,  and  I  dreamed  of  the  daughter,  a  sin- 
gular coincidence." 

So  saying,  M.  de  Manteigney  uttered  a  little  harsh 
laugh. 

"I  do  not  like  such  jests,"  said  the  mistress  of  the 
castle,  and  the  cur6  noticed  that  she  bit  her  lips. 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  71 


M.  Larreau,  who  had  taken  very  little  part  in  the 
conversation  during  breakfast,  but  had  found  time 
while  eating  heartily  to  occasionally  half  open  his 
famous  left  eye  and  watch  the  company,  took  the 
curb's  arm  as  they  left  the  table,  and  after  pulling 
down  his  huge  white  vest,  which  was  always  inclined 
to  slip  up,  drew  the  priest  out  upon  the  lawn. 

"  Ah !  "  thought  the  countess,  "  my  father  has  taken 
the  cur6  away  from  me.  He  is  determined  that  I 
shall  not  have  an  opportunity  to  make  my  enigma 
talk." 

"  Don't  you  smoke,  my  dear  sir  ?  "  said  the  cap- 
italist, in  his  soft,  friendly  tone. 

"  A  little,  but  not  at  this  season  of  the  year." 

"  Please  accept  a  cigar." 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  only  smoke  in  winter,  when  we 
are  imprisoned  by  the  snow,  and  besides,  I  do  not 
know  how  to  use  anything  but  the  short  pipes  of  this 
region." 

"  Then,  as  it  does  not  annoy  you,  permit  me  to 
light  my  cigar  ?  "  And  as  he  touched  it  to  the  yellow 
flame  of  a  wax  match,  he  compressed  the  tobacco  be- 
tween his  short,  plump  fingers. 

"  Confess,  my  dear  cure,  that  this  is  a  charming 
view ;  I  cannot  tell  you  how  deeply  I  am  moved  by 
the  magnificent  scenery." 

"  True,  Monsieur,  our  country  is  very  beautiful, 
but  unfortunately  it  is  the  will  of  Providence  that  the 
superb  landscape  you  admire  should  wear  a  stern 
face  to  the  poor.  The  poverty  of  this  population  is 
very  great,  and  their  labor  extremely  severe." 

"  I  understand  you ;  there  is  much  to  be  done  un- 
doubtedly. It  gives  me  pleasure  to  see  that  you  are 
not  blind  to  the  humanitarian  and  social  importance 
of—" 

"  Humanitarian — social — " 


72  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  have  thought  just  as  you  do,  Mon- 
sieur le  cure — "  and  he  added  aside :  "  He  is  timid, 
we  must  set  him  at  ease.  The  prosperity  of  a  coun- 
try,  you  know,  depends  entirely  upon  an  active  and 
regular  intercourse." 

"  Intercourse  !  but  I  do  not — " 

"  You  will  tell  me,  I  know,  that  these  superb 
mountains  are  the  most  difficult  of  all  obstacles  to 
surmount !  they  are  the  miserly  guardians  of  their 
immense  wealth  until  the  day  when  the  intelligence 
of  man — of  a  man — finds  means  of  levelling  heights 
and  filling  up  abysses." 

Larreau  was  no  simpleton,  talking  at  random.  He 
knew  perfectly  well  that  he  should  bewilder  the  priest 
by  this  somewhat  pompous  and  confused  preamble; 
but  this  result  was  by  no  means  unpleasant  to  him. 
lie  wished,  first  of  all,  to  make  the  abbe  understand 
that  he  was  a  thinker,  a  capitalist,  on  whose  elevated 
views  of  life  he  might  rely.  The  cure,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  his  interlocutor,  listened  in  silence,  proba- 
bly thinking  that  by  degrees  he  should  comprehend 
his  meaning.  After  the  frivolous  chatter  at  the 
breakfast  table,  these  grave  words,  and  the  pleasing 
manner  of  the  man  who  uttered  them,  had  an  especial 
charm  for  him.  He  was  doubtless  about  to  find  some 
one  with  whom  it  would  be  agreeable  to  converse. 
Unfortunately  the  countess  suddenly  approached,  car- 
rying a  cup  of  coffee,  which  she  coquettishly  presented 
to  him. 

"  Very  little  sugar,  if  you  please." 

The  lady  took  up  the  shining  sugar-tongs,  and  be- 
gan to  look  for  a  small  lump  in  the  bowl  held  by 
Mine,  de  Kougeon.  She  searched  and  searched — 
"  Is  not  this  piece  too  small,  or  how  will  that  do  ? 
Wait,  wait,  we  will  suit  you  exactly." 

IShe  assumed  a  thousand  pretty  attitudes  during 
this  occupation ;  the  pearly  skin  of  her  wrist,  threaded 
with  its  blue  veins,  challenged  the  attention,  and  en- 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  73 

circling  its  satin  smoothness,  gleamed  a  golden  brace- 
let whose  suspended  trinkets  tingled  against  the 
edges  of  the  sugar  basin. 

Abbe  Roche  did  not  understand  how  so  simple  an 
act  could  furnish  an  opportunity  for  the  display  of  so 
many  subtle  graces,  but  he  was  by  no  means  impa- 
tient, and,  to  tell  the  truth,  might  have  remained 
much  longer  as  an  observer  of  the  difficulties  of 
sweetening,  without  complaining. 

"  And  you,  dear  papa,  will  you  have  some  coffee  ?  " 
asked  the  young  wife. 

"  Thank  you,  my  darling." 

"  Just  think  of  it,  my  father  cannot  be  persuaded 
to  give  up  that  horrible  white  cravat,  which,  tied  in 
that  way,  makes  him  look  like  a  country  bailiff.  For 
eight  years,  Monsieur  le  cur6,  I  have  suffered  from 
the  old-fashioned  dress  in  which  my  father  glories. 
At  least,  let  me  re-arrange  the  knot?" 

She  approached  M.  Larreau,  whose  face  brightened 
till  his  left  eye  could  scarcely  be  perceived,  and  with 
the  artless  manner  and  affected  childishness  of  a 
boarding-school  miss,  altered  the  tie  of  the  cravat, 
drew  down  the  ends,  thrust  her  slender  little  fingers 
into  all  the  corners,  retouched  and  patted  her  work, 
half  closed  her  eyes  that  she  might  the  better  judge  of 
its  effect,  then  throwing  her  arms  around  her  father's 
neck,  kissed  him  most  affectionately.  "  There  is  a 
greatly  improved  papa,  isn't  he,  Monsieur  le  cure  ?  " 
And  she  turned  away. 

"  Isn't  my  little  countess  charming,  Monsieur 
Roche  ?  "  said  the  capitalist,  earnestly. 

"  Certainly,"  answered  the  cure,  "  certainly.  Were 
you  telling  me  that  mountains  were  an  obstacle,  and 
that  intercourse — humanitarian —  I  did  not  exactly 
catch  your  idea." 

"  Well,  my  dear  cure,  I  have  no  one  else  in  the 
world.  You  do  not  understand  a  father's  feelings. 
I  love  her  with  my  whole  heart,  the  dear  little  thing. 


74  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

She  does  just  what  she  pleases  with  me.  Ah  !  ah — 
my  little  countess  !  How  stylish  she  is  !  What  do 
you  think  of  her  ?  She  has  such  an  aristocratic  ap- 
pearance ! " 

Even  the  tones  of  his  voice  changed  as  he  spoke 
of  his  daughter,  and  his  face  assumed  an  expression 
of  delight. 

Nothing  of  all  this  escaped  the  priest's  attention ; 
"  Mme.  de  Manteigney  appears  to  be  very  fond  of 
you,  Monsieur,"  he  replied. 

"  Oh !  you  do  not  know  her,  you  have  merely 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her.  My  daughter  is  an  angel !  " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  during  which  M. 
Larreau  looked  at  the  priest  with  a  defiant  smile,  that 
seemed  almost  a  challenge. 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,  I  do  not  doubt  it." 

"  You  must  know  that  I  have  always  lived  for  my 
wife  and  daughter;  family  affections  are  deeply  root- 
ed in  my  heart,  Monsieur  le  cure.  I  have  worked 
during  my  life,  worked  very  hard ;  but  may  I  be  hung 
if  I  ever  spent  even  two  hours  without  thinking  of 
my  dear  little  daughter.  It  gives  one  courage,  you 
see.  The  day  after  she  was  born,  as  I  saw  the  little 
chenib  moving  restlessly  among  her  wrappings,  I  felt 
that  my  life  began  to  have  an  object,  and  swore  to 
make  my  daughter  a  great  lady.  I  have  not  managed 
my  affairs  badly,  as  you  perceive ;  besides  giving  her 
a  title,  I  have  amassed  a  few  crowns  for  her  use.  I 
am  very  rich,  M.  le  cure"  ;  I  do  not  pride  myself  upon 
it  in  the  least ;  but  I  am  very  rich." 

As  he  uttered  the  words,  he  twisted  his  cigar 
carefully  between  his  fingers,  which  seemed  to  have 
grown  a  fourth  longer. 

"  It  must  be  confessed,"  he  continued,  "  that  she 
has  adapted  herself  to  circumstances  wonderfully 
well,  and  does  not  appear  to  be  any  more  inconveni- 
enced by  her  countess's  coronet  than  I  am  by  my 
night-cap.  If  you  could  see  her  at  a  ball !  Between 


ABOUND  A  SPRING.  75 

ourselves  there  is  not  a  duchess  in  the  Faubourg 
Saint  German  who  is  a  greater  lady  than  she,  and 
that  without  the  slightest  affectation,  with  perfect 
ease !  How  can  I  help  loving  her !  A  father's  heart 
is  very  tender.  And  then  it  is  my  creation,  my  work. 
There,  do  you  see  her  now  ?  She  has  just  made  one 
of  her  charming  puns.  They  are  all  listening,  every- 
body around  her  is  laughing.  Ah  !  good,  there  they 
go  again.  There  is  more  wit  in  her  little  finger  than 
in  all  their  brains  united.  They  are  perfect  starlings : 
oh !  I  make  no  excuses  for  them.  They  must  have 
shocked  you  at  breakfast.  I  have  a  horror  of  this 
empty,  noisy  loquaciousness  in  which  every  one  seems 
to  make  a  point  of  saying  exactly  the  opposite  of 
what  he  thinks." 

"  But  why  should  there  be  so  much  dissimula- 
tion?" 

"  What  would  you  have  ?  it  is  the  fashion.  Well ! 
Monsieur  le  cure,  she  is  no  more  embarrassed  when, 
glittering  with  jewels,  she  enters  a  ball-room,  than 
you  see  her  now.  My  daughter  amazes  me.  Yes, 
she  amazes  me  by  her  style,  her  aristocratic  bearing. 
And  she  can  be  so  haughty  when  she  chooses.  I  have 
sometimes  heard  her  reprove  her  head  coachman — 
she  was  so  cutting  I  could  hardly  help  embracing  her 
on  the  spot.  My  son-in-law  is  not  so  bad, as  far  as  he 
goes,  but  he  does  not  come  within  a  hundred  feet  of 
his  wife.  How  do  you  like  the  count's  appearance  ?  " 

"  Very  well,  Monsieur,  very  well." 

"  And  I  don't  like  it  at  all.  Yet  I  should  wish 
him  to  be  just  as  he  is.  Perhaps  I  will  explain  the 
reason  one  of  these  days." 

Then  suddenly,  with  an  outburst  of  frankness 
and  cordiality,  he  exclaimed  :  "  Monsieur  le  cur6, 1  tell 
you  plainly  that  I  am  extremely  pleased  with  you. 
No,  don't  be  so  modest,  upon  my  honor  I  mean 
it.  If  I  did  not  like  you,  I  should  say  so,  for  I  am 
as  true  as  gold.  Your  i'ace  expresses  integrity,  and 


76  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

if  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so,  a  great  deal  of  intel- 
ligence." 

The  priest's  smile  had  a  tinge  of  irony.  "  What 
is  his  object,"  he  thought ;  "  for  what  motive  is  he 
saying  all  this  ?  " 

"  And  the  deuce,  my  dear  cure",  it  was  God  who 
made  you  so ;  there  is  no  occasion  for  blushing.  I  do 
not  know  your  origin,  but — " 

"  It  is  a  most  humble  one." 

"  Not  more  humble  than  mine,  certainly — I  defy 
you  to  surpass  that :  I  am  an  old  spout-maker."  The 
cure"  made  a  gesture  of  surprise. 

"  Nothing  else,  and  I  am  not  at  all  ashamed  of  it, 
on  the  contrary.  I  am  rich,  it  is  true  ;  but  I  have  no 
personal  graces,  while  you,  my  dear  cure,  have  the 
bearing  of  a  nobleman.  You  possess  a  famous  capital 
in  that" 

Abbe"  Roche,  vaguely  understanding  that  the 
words  contained  something  offensive,  could  not  help 
blushing;  perceiving  it,  the  capitalist  continued: 

"  Listen  :  .each  man  seeks  to  make  a  mark  in  his 
own  career,  and  dreams  of  success — it  is  a  matter  of 
necessity  that  it  should  be  so." 

"  I  think,  Monsieur,  that  you  are  making  sport  of 
me." 

"  You  have  everything,  I  tell  you,  the  bearing, 
the  gestures,  the  grace,  the  dignity,  everything — I 
will  go  farther,  and  assert  that  you  are  not  in  your 
rightful  place  while  here." 

Larreau  stopped  before  Abbe"  Roche  with  the 
firmness  of  a  prophet,  and,  thrusting  his  hands  into 
the  arm-pits  of  his  vest,  continued:  "No  false  mod- 
esty; I  know  men  ;  people  do  not  attain  my  position, 
as  you  may  imagine,  unless  they  understand  them 
thoroughly ;  well,  you  are  not  in  your  rightful  place 
here,  my  dear  cure",  unless  this  parish,  no\v  so  insig- 
nificant, should  acquire  —  "  he  made  a  hem  !  and 
smiled  — "  should  chance  to  acquire  an  importance 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  77 

which  would  render  it  worthy  of  you.  You  are 
ambitious — so  much  the  better  !  I  like  that.  It  is 
indispensable  to  careers  which  are  impeded  by  ob- 
stacles." 

"  But,  Monsieur,  I — " 

"  Nobly  ambitious,  that  is  what  I  mean.  You  feel 
your  value,  and  you  are  right." 

"  Never  has  my  conduct —  You  judge  me  with- 
out knowing  me." 

"  Pardon  me,  I  know  what  I  am  saying.  Your 
glance,  your  face,  everything  about  you  denotes  ener- 
gy, a  love  for  conflict,  a  contempt  of  difficulties. 
You  are  placed  in  this  out-of-the-way  corner  for  some 
reason  of  which  I  am  ignorant,  and  still  young,  ardent 
and  intelligent,  you  desire  to  make  your  wray  in  the 
world  and  retaliate  for  the  slight.  What  could  be 
more  noble  and  natural  ?  I  have  been  in  your  posi- 
tion, and  that  is  why  I  know  your  feelings.  Consider 
me  as  a  sincere  friend,  and  let  us  understand  each 
other." 

"  You  will  oblige  me  by  not  adding  another  word," 
said  Abbe  Roche,  who  felt  that  his  anger  was  gaining 
the  mastery  over  him. 

"  You  know,  my  dear  friend,  that  I  say  what  I 
think,  just  in  this  way,  frankly  and  plainly  ;  you  must 
take  me  as  I  am." 

"  After  all,"  said  the  cure  to  himself,  "  this  man 
may  be  only  a  fool  and  monomaniac.  What  should 
make  him  think  of  insulting  me  ?  What  wrong  have 
I  done  him  ?  Besides,  perhaps  I  have  misunderstood 
his  meaning." 

He  controlled  himself,  and  answered  coldly, 
"  Monsieur,  I  presume  that  I  do  not  exactly  compre- 
hend you.  All  that  I  ask  is  that  you  will  wait  until 
you  know  me  better  before  forming  your  opinion  of 
me ;  I  think  you  will  then  find  I  am  perfectly  well 
suited  for  my  position  in  this  parish." 

"  Well    said,  very  well  said,  I  repeat.  I   admirg 


78  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

frankness ;  you  do  not  wish  to  leave  this  region.  I 
only  esteem  you  the  more  highly  for  it,,  since  it  is  a 
proof  of  the  correctness  of  your  judgment."  And, 
putting  his  arm  unceremoniously  within  that  of  the 
priest,  he  continued :  "  Let  us  speak  openly  to  each 
other,  my  dear  friend.  This  country  has  a  splendid  fu- 
ture— God  has  bestowed  royal  gifts  upon  it.  See  how 
beautiful  is  the  sweep  of  the  vast  horizon  !  Look  at 
yonder  mountains,  with  the  silvery  light  upon  their 
summits,  they  contain  treasures  which  should  be 
brought  forth.  These  almost  abandoned  forests  only 
need  to  be  felled ;  these  valleys  are  as  fertile  as  any  in 
the  world  ;  each  of  the  brooks  rushing  into  the  plain 
has  a  motive  power  which  can  and  ought  to  be  made 
profitable.  How  much  wealth  there  is  lying  under  this 
virgin  soil,  only  needing  the  labor  of  some  well-sup- 
ported man  !  In  what,  I  ask  you,  is  this  earthly  par- 
adise inferior  to  all  the  cities  among  the  Pyrenees 
and  Alps,  to  which  all  Europe  resorts  to  scatter  its 
millions.  Bagneres  de  Luchon,  Cauterets,  Uriage, 
Evian,  Aix,  Vichy  ?  " 

"  Do  not  the  places  you  mention  possess  mineral 
springs,  whose  fame — " 

"  Well,  and  Monaco,  and  Baden,  and — besides,  the 
mineral  springs —  Excuse  my  entering  into  the  details 
at  present.  Do  not  suppose  that  I  purchased  the  es- 
tate of  Manteigney  at  random,  I  have  always  put  my 
capital  into  good  investments.  In  short,  trust  to  me, 
I  have  entered  upon  a  grand  and  beautiful  scheme, 
and  I  am  not  the  man  to  draw  back  on  account  of  ob- 
stacles, my  dear  cure.  In  accepting  this  noble  mis- 
sion, devoting  the  remainder  of  my  days  to  it,  and  in- 
troducing life,  wealth,  activity,  industry  and  happi- 
ness into  this  deserted  country,  I  believe  that  I  am 
acting  in  accordance  with  the  designs  of  Providence, 
and  shall  deserve  the  esteem  of  all  worthy  men !  let 
us  think  of  all  this  seriously.  Now,  what  do  I  ask, 
what  do  I  hope  for  from  you  ?  Sympathy,  nothing 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  79 

more — your  official,  but  sincere  concurrence.  I  ask 
you  to  associate  your  advancement  with  my  work,  and 
aid  it  by  the  moral  influence  which  is  the  result  of 
your  position." 

"  Then  you  ask  something  of  me  ?  I  beg  you, 
Monsieur,  explain  yourself  more  clearly." 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  I  see  that  you  are  like  Saint  Thomas," 
said  the  capitalist,  \vith  increasing  gentleness  and  good 
nature.  "  You  wish  the  thing  to  be  made  perfectly 
plain.  Do  not  apologize :  this  caution  does  not  annoy 
me,  my  dear  friend;  business  is  business." 

"  So  you  are  proposing  some  business  matter  ? 
What  is  it  ?  I  am  not  at  all  familiar  with  such  things. 
Speak  to  me  simply,  as  you  would  to  a  child :  I  shall 
not  understand  you  otherwise." 

"  The  word  business  slipped  out  unintentionally. 
The  deuce  !  it  is  a  very  ticklish  affair,"  thought  Lar- 
reau.  "  I  beg  you  to  excuse  me,  I  never  meant — it 
is  no  question  of  business,  the  affair  is  simply  one  of 
sympathy,  good- will,  active  benevolence,  my  dear  cure. 
It  is  rather  difficult  for  me,  as  you  can  easily  compre- 
hend, to  enter  into  all  the  details  of  this  enterprise 
just  now.  Yet  listen  to  me.  The  population  of  this 
country  is  full  of  faith  and  simplicity ;  it  is  poetic,  has 
a  tendency  towards  the  supernatural :  valuable  quali- 
ties. You  have  perfect  control  over  them,  you  know 
their  wants,  their  desires.  During  the  ten  or  fifteen 
years  that  you  have  spent  here  you  must  have  extend- 
ed your  relations  far  among  the  mountains ;  the  neigh- 
boring cur6s  are  your  friends ;  in  short,  you  have  au 
immense  moral  influence.  Now,  it  is  very  difficult 
to  undertake  anything  in  a  country  where  one  has  not 
first  won  the  confidence  of  the  inhabitants.  I  wish 
for  their  happiness,  their  welfare,  it  is  true ;  but 
they  must  be  made  to  understand  this,  and  you  alone 
are  in  a  position  to  explain  everything  to  them.  Prej- 
udices are  obstinate,  habits  tenacious ;  it  is  for  you, 
my  dear  cure,  who  understand  how  to  appeal  to  their 


80  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

minds,  to  present  the  benefits  which  will  result  from 
my  work  in  a  favorable  light." 

The  priest  concentrated  his  whole  attention,  in  or- 
der to  comprehend  M.  Larreau's  words.  In  the  midst 
of  the  confusion  of  his  thoughts,  he  said  to  himself: 
"  Perhaps,  after  all,  his  intentions  are  good  ;  the  pov- 
erty is  very  great,  there  must  be  much  to  be  done." 

"  And  then,"  continued  the  capitalist,  "  there  ought 
not  to  be  the  least  doubt  of  each  other.  Nothing  can 
or  should  be  attempted  without  the  aid  of  religion. 
If  you  are  anxious  about  my  personal  opinions,  I  can 
re-assure  you,  for  I  am  a  true  Catholic.  Progress,  in 
her  advance,  must  be  illumed  by  the  torch  of  faith. 
These  simple  words  say  more  than  a  long  speech. 
Without  being  what  is  called  a  devotee,  lam  thorough- 
ly sincere  in  my  belief.  I  practise  it — as  a  man  ought 
in  my  position';  and  I  really  think  that  Catholicism  is 
the  only  barrier  that  can  be  opposed  to  the  flood  of 
wicked  passions,  the  only  barricade  that  protects  the 
grand  principles  of  social  life,  respect  for  authority 
and  wealth." 

"  The  love  of  God  is  higher  than  all  that,  Mon- 
sieur." 

"  Do  I  not  trust  in  the  love  of  God — but,  pardon 
me  the  jest :  I  have  more  faith,  from 'a  practical  point 
of  view,  in  the  fear  of  the  devil.  Look  you,  my  dear 
friend ;  we  do  not  win  murderers  by  the  promise  of 
the  cross  of  the  legion  of  honor,  but  awe  them  by  the 
threat  of  the  scaffold ;  and  when  we  walk  at  night 
with  money  on  our  persons,  in  unsafe  suburbs,  it  is 
better  to  have  a  good  stick  in  the  hand  than  a  bundle 
of  tracts  in  the  pocket.  I  speak  to  you  frankly,  for 
you  are  a  man  who  can  understand  me." 

Abbe  Roche  felt  the  blood  flushing  his  brow.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  he  had  just  received  a  blow  in  the 
face,  and  no  longer  able  to  control  the  indignation 
which  had  been  too  long  restrained,  he  was  about  to 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  S] 

reply  as  he  felt,  when  Mme.  Manteigney  suddenly 
came  tripping  up. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  have  you  determined  to  desert 
us  ?  Come,  we  have  arranged  a  game  of  cricket,  and 
I  bet  against  Monsieur  le  cure." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Madame,  but  they  are  expect- 
ing me  at  church,  and  the  vesper  bell  will  soon  ring." 

"  Then  I  must  not  delay  you  ;  but  you  know  that 
I  am  going  to  pay  a  visit  at  your  house.  You  prom- 
ised to  give  me  a  list  of  the  poor  people." 

When  the  cure  had  gone,  the  young  countess  took 
her  father's  arm. 

"  You  won't  wear  that  ugly  white  cravat  any  more, 
will  you,  dear  papa  ?  It  makes  you  look  like  your 
lawyer." 

"  Yes,  countess — yes,  my  darling,  I  will  give  up 
the  white  cravat  to  please  you."  '  • 

"  Tell  me,  father,  what  do  you  think  of  our  cure  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  child,  he  is  certainly  no  parvenu." 

"  You  think  so,  really." 

"  He  is  extremely  clever,  and  sees  the  whole  bear- 
ings of  any  matter  very  clearly.  He  is  also  cautious, 
cold,  and  circumspect." 

"  Then  he  is  an  incomprehensible  man.  How  did 
he  happen  to  be' the  cure  of  this  insignificant  village  ?  " 

"  There  are  certain  occasions,  my  darling,  in  which 
we  must  recognize  the  finger  of  Providence,  which 
prepares  events  and  regulates  means  of  action." 

When  Abbe  Roche  reached  the  end  of  the  terrace, 
he  turned,  before  proceeding  on  his  way,  and  saw  in 
the  distance  the  father  and  daughter,  walking  side  by 
side,  and  arm  in  arm.  They  looked  as  if  they  enjoyed 
each  other's  companionship.  The  young  countess's 
dress,  with  its  floating  train,  swept  over  the  grass, 
and  the  fair  hair  and  white  robe  made  a  charming  con- 
trast relieved  against  the  green  trees.  The  cure  un- 
doubtedly had  an  instinctive  appreciation  of  colors : 
for  he  followed  the  countess  and  her  father  with  his 
6 


82  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

eyes  until  they  disappeared  behind  a  clump  of  trees. 
Then  he  continued  his  walk. 

In  the  court-yard,  the  head  coachman  was  exam- 
ining a  carriage,  from  which  the  horses  had  been  un- 
harnessed, and  pare  Loursiere,  who  had  just  arrived, 
accompanied  by  his  daughter,  and  armed  with  his 
basket,  was  making  remarks  upon  it.  The  cheese 
merchant  bowed,  on  perceiving  the  cure".  Abbe 
Roche,  who  did  not  particularly  like  the  man,  return- 
ed his  greeting,  passed  him  quickly,  and  went  to- 
wards the  door.  Pere  and  mere  Sappey  were  still 
seated  side  by  side  before  their  little  mats. 

The  good  woman  rose.  "  Monsieur  le  cure,"  said 
she,  "  have  you  spoken  to  our  master  and  mistress 
about  my  husband's  red  breeches  ?  " 

"  No,  mere  Sappey,  not  yet,  but  do  not  be  anxious 
about  it,  the  -matter  can  probably  be  easily  settled. 
Does  pere  Loursi6re  come  here  often  ?  " 

"  Only  too  often,  M.  le  cure,  only  too  often  !  We 
did  not  see  him  as  you  might  say  once  a  year,  and 
now  he  comes  with  his  daughter — " 

Abbe  lioche  left  the  chateau,  and  turned  to- 
wards the  village.  The  road  was  bathed  in  sunlight, 
and  the  little  brook,  which  flowed  beside  it,  babbling 
among  the  stones,  had  never  been  more  merry  and 
enticing;  but  the  priest  remained  blind  to  all  these 
charms.  One  by  one  Larreau's  remarks  returned  to 
his  memory.  He  thought  that  he  discovered  the 
meaning  which  had  escaped  him,  and  now  found  the 
answer  he  had  not  been  able  to  frame  before.  Had 
not  this  man  asked  him  to  use  his  priestly  authority 
to  aid  his  speculations  —  to  mingle  God's  name  in 
commercial  enterpi-ises  ?  Was  not  that  what  he  had 
meant  ?  He  was  indignant,  and  angrily  struck  with 
his  stick  the  grass  and  flowers  that  bloomed  beside 
the  brook;  he  wished  to  return  at  once  to  the  cha- 
teau, explain  himself  clearly,  and  undeceive  this  man, 
whom  he  had  perhaps  encouraged  by  his  silence — to 


AROUND  A   SPRING.  83 

say  to  him :  "  I  am  not  what  you  think ;"  then  he 
checked  himself,  and  with  a  revulsion  of  feeling,  ac- 
cused himself  of  putting  a  false  interpretation  upon 
the  words  of  the  capitalist,  who  seemed  so  kind  and 
affable  to  everybody,  so  affectionate  to  the  dear  little 
countess,  to  whom  his  life  was  devoted.  He  had 
spoken  of  enterprises,  schemes  to  be  accomplished ; 
but  he  had  not  mentioned  their  nature.  Perhaps  they 
might  be  honorable  ones.  He  had  expressed  him- 
self, it  is  true,  in  singular  terms,  with  a  double  mean- 
ing ;  but  was  it  not  natural  that  he  should  judge  of 
things  as  a  man  of  business,  a  parvenu,  a  rich  man, 
who  could  not  separate  the  welfare  of  a  country  from 
its  material  prosperity  ? 

At  every  step  taken  by  the  priest,  the  lizards  bask- 
ing on  the  hot  stones  by  the  roadside  rushed  under 
the  grasses  and  glided  among  the  shrubs.  The  air 
was  filled  with  the  cheerful  hum  of  insects,  and  there 
was  a  pleasant  fragrance  of  aromatic  plants  and 
shrubs,  mingling  with  the  distant  odor  from  the  pine 
trees.  Under  any  other  circumstances  the  good  cure, 
as  he  walked  along,  would  have  been  happy,  and 
thankful  to  God  for  his  pleasant  lot.  He  would  have 
thought  of  the  bowl  players,  awaiting  him  after  ves- 
pers on  the  smoothly  shaven  turf  of  the  little  enclos- 
ure, under  the  shadow  of  the  lofty  chestnut  tre'es,  of 
his  cheerful  supper  afterwards,  sitting  in  the  open 
door-way  near  his  flowers,  while  before  him  was  the 
radiant  majesty  of  the  sun,  sinking  behind  the  icy 
mountain  peaks,  and  of  his  quiet  slumber,  when  at 
peace  with  others  and  himself,  he  went  to  rest  aftei 
the  day  was  over. 

At  that  moment  he  was  very  far  from  such  calm 
repose.  He  was  endeavoring,  almost  obstinately,  to 
excuse  the  capitalist.  He  only  wished  to  remember 
the  good  words  of  the  conversation.  He  saw  him 
again,  looking  happy  and  cheerful,  while  his  daughter 
coquettishly  arranged  his  white  cravat ;  and,  led  on 


84  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

by  these  memories,  heard  once  more  the  sound  of 
the  bracelets  striking  against  the  sugar-bowl,  and 
again  siw  the  white  robes  sweeping  over  the  lawn. 
All  these  recollections  rapidly  succeeded  each  other 
in  his  mind.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  a  double  personality, 
and  while  Abbe  Roche,  cure  of  Grand  Fort,  strove 
to  escape  the  remembrance  of  all  that  he  had  seen 
and  heard  at  the  chateau,  a  second  self,  who  was  no 
priest,  but  curious  about  novelties,  ardent,  free,  and 
bold,  sought  to  understand  and  recall  the  phantoms 
which  the  cure  had  just  conjured  up. 


XI. 

Abbe"  Roche,  to  dispel  these  preoccupied  thoughts, 
resolved  to  avoid  everything  that  might  interrupt  the 
ordinary  course  of  his  quiet  life,  but,  by  a  singular  la- 
tality,  which  seemed  as  if  it  were  the  result  of  the 
malice  of  some  fiend,  almost  all  his  sensations  and 
ideas  led  him  by  more  or  less  direct  paths  to  the  cas- 
tle of  Manteigney,  to  the  motley  world  which  en- 
throned the  countess.  She  herself  returned  to  his 
thoughts  more  frequently  than  anything  else  :  it  was 
incomprehensible.  Did  he  walk  through  fields  bathed 
in  sunlight,  some  corner  of  the  landscape  recalled  the 
color  of  the  young  wife's  hair,  and  if  to  avoid  it  he 
moved  on  more  quickly  and  looked  up  towards  the 
sky,  the  trailing  edge  of  some  fleecy  cloud  borne 
along  by  the  breeze  caught  his  eye,  and  in  spite  of 
himself,  he  thought  of  the  lightness  of  the  floating, 
half-disordered  curls  that  strayed  over  her  shoulders. 
Everything  was  a  pretext  to  remind  him  of  her,  and 
one  detail  recalling  another,  they  grouped  around 
each  other  with  marvellous  rapidity,  and  he  soon  per- 
ceived her  whole  figure,  saw  her  move,  heard  her 
speak.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  every  word  uttered 
by  her  lips  had  lodged  in  the  poor  man's  ears  and 


AEOUND  A  SPRING.  85 

could  not  be  expelled.  Suddenly,  without  apparent 
cause,  these  words  would  begin  to  reason  within  him 
with  such  a  semblance  of  reality  that  he  stopped 
short, startled,  like  a  man  who  lias  been  unexpectedly 
clapped  on  the  shoulder.  It  appeared  to  him  as  if  it 
were  not  one  of  the  vague  impressions  whose  remem- 
brance is  preserved  by  the  mind,  but  the  continuation 
of  an  actual  iact.  He  heard  the  countess's  voice,  per- 
ceived its  musical  accents,  its  soft  vibrating  tones. 

The  singularity  of  the  phenomenon  to  which  he 
was  unwillingly  forced  to  yield,  irritated  him  extreme- 
ly. He  was  in  despair  at  being  compelled  to  hear, 
even  when  he  did  not  listen.  He  attempted  to  take 
himself  to  task,  and  entered  into  a  profound  analysis 
of  his  sensations.  What  was  it  after  all  ?  A  singu- 
lar quivering  of  the  tympanum,  caused  by  peculiar 
vibrations  in  the  air,  nothing  more.  If  the  same  sen- 
sations were  frequently  renewed,  it  was  because,  by 
an  inexplicable  but  purely  physical  iact,  the  air  obsti- 
nately continued  to  vibrate  in  precisely  the  same  man- 
ner. That  the  result  was  agreeable  to  him,  instead 
of  being  painful,  was  of  very  little  importance ;  a 
skilful  physician  would  have  explained  it  by  figures ; 
undoubtedly  it  was  only  a  scientific  detail,  which 
might  be  readily  expressed  in  a  formula.  It  was  very 
clear  that,  under  any  circumstances,  moral  sympathies 
had  nothing  to  do  with  this  phenomenon.  It  was 
not  the  attraction  of  two  souls  mutually  seeking  each 
other.  What  bond  could  there  be  between  the  count- 
ess and  himself?  He  did  not  know  her  well !  had 
scarcely  seen  her.  Thus  the  priest,  in  seeking  to  di- 
minish his  anxiety,  and  regain  his  usual  calmness, 
threw  himself,  with  singular  energy,  into  the  depths 
of  the  most  radical  materialism.  Yet,  if  he  shook 
himself  free  of  it,  with  unconquerable  repugnance,  it 
was  only  to  encounter  other  embarrassments  which 
were  equally  annoying;  for,  if  the  ever-recurring  re- 
inemb ranee  of  the  couutess  was  only  a  physical  phe- 


86  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

nomenon,  he  must  confess  himself  to  be  the  servant, 
the  slave  of  his  senses,  subject  to  their  caprices,  a  vic- 
tim of  their  phantasms.  Never  before  had  he  been 
compelled  to  endure  the  insubordination  and  revolt 
of  these  vassals,  and  he  felt  humiliated  by  it.  His 
soul  must  have  become  very  weak  and  impotent,  if  it 
no  longer  had  the  power  of  self-control !  He  wished 
to  sternly  punish  his  rebellious  thoughts,  but  how  ? 
Had  he  not  reason  to  reproach  himself  for  weak- 
nesses and  culpable  negligences,  which  were  the  first 
cause  of  this  insubordination  ? 

Abb6  Roche  did  not  then  know  the  secret  of  the 
uneasiness  of  which  he  was  a  victim.  What,  indeed, 
could  be  the  cause  of  the  pre-occupied  thoughts 
which  pursued  him,  irritating  and  humiliating  him, 
like  the  buzzing  and  stinging  of  a  swarm  of  insects, 
against  which  one  can  make  no  resistance  ?  It  was 
not  that  he  feared  the  future :  the  irrevocable  vows 
that  he  had  pronounced  were  like  a  divine  and  im- 
penetrable shield,  beneath  whose  shelter  he  could 
live  without  any  serious  injury,  and  boldly  front  the 
world ;  but  as  he  did  not  wish  to  pursue  his  study  of 
sensations  that  were  unworthy  of  closer  examination, 
he  most  earnestly  sought  for  pretexts  to  absent  him- 
self from  the  chateau.  He  called  to  his  aid  the  mem- 
ory of  Claudius  and  the  Rougeon  family,  and  strove 
to  make  his  confused  recollections  of  them  more  dis- 
tinct. He  summoned  them  from  the  dark  back- 
ground to  which  they  had  been  banished  by  his  prej- 
udices, and  sought  to  give  more  vividness  to  the 
outline.  He  remembered,  not  without  strong  effort, 
their  faces,  their  peculiar  manners,  their  repulsive 
words;  in  imagination,  he  looked  into  their  souls, 
and,  utterly  disgusted  by  the  pictures  he  had  drawn, 
determined  to  cease  all  intercourse  with  these  peo- 
ple. He  no  longer  said  one  word  of  the  countess. 

In  order  to  convince  himself  even  more  fully,  he 
brought  forward  fresh  arguments  :  it  was  to  be  feared 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  87 

that  a  piolonged  intimacy  with  the  rich  and  happy  of 
this  world  might  divert  his  attention  from  his  austere 
duties,  and  that  amidst  this  earthly  existence,  this  ex- 
cessive luxury  and  comfort,  he  might  permit  himself 
to  be  drawn  into  habits  which  he  could  not  easily 
shake  off.  Would  it  not  be  said,  also,  that  he  accept- 
ed the  hospitality  of  the  chateau  from  effeminacy  and 
indolence,  in  order  to  escape  from  the  hardships  of 
his  simple  mode  of  life  ?  What  would  his  parishion 
ers  say,  whose  existence  it  was  his  duty  to  share  ? 
Such  were  the  reasons  he  assigned.  Besides,  he  liked 
to  give  himself  curt  orders,  to  be  unhesitatingly  obey- 
ed ;  it  wras  one  means  of  proving  his  moral  energy, 
which,  with  secret  pride,  he  opposed  to  the  theoreti- 
cal submission  of  his  senses.  In  order  to  excuse  and 
convince  himself,  he  enumerated  in  his  thoughts  all 
the  duties  imposed  upon  him  by  his  ministry,  the  sick 
to  be  visited,  the  poor,  the  catechism — but  he  must 
have  attached  great  importance  to  the  necessity  of 
ceasing  all  intercourse  with  the  chateau,  since  it  led 
him  to  such  self-deception.  Whatever  might  be  the 
cause,  faithful  to  the  resolution  he  had  formed,  Abbe 
Roche  strove  with  all  the  energy  of  which  he  was  ca- 
pable, to  occupy  his  time.  He  did  so  well,  he  com- 
bined visits,  prayers,  meditation  and  gardening  so 
skilfully  that  he  was  at  liberty  only,  during  the  two 
hours  directly  after  supper,  which  had  always  been 
devoted  to  his  evening  walk.  It  was  his  time  for 
thinking  during  a  quiet  ramble.  The  sun  had  set, 
night  began  to  darken  over  the  country,  the  women 
were  still  spinning  at  the  thresholds  of  their  doors, 
the  men,  seated  on  the  stumps  of  pine  trees,  which 
had  just  been  brought  from  the  forest,  smoked  and 
talked  together,  and  when  the  cur6  passed  these 
worthy  people,  they  exchanged  a  bow  and  good-eve- 
ning. How  many  times  had  the  priest  sat  dowr 
among  them,  taking  an  earnest  interest  in  the  thou 


88  ABOUND  A  SPRING. 

sand  details  of  their  monotonous,  laborious  family 
life ! 

Abb6  Roche  was  now  less  desirous  to  have  these 
meetings  and  conversations ;  he  wished  to  be  alone, 
and  avoided  the  village,  which  had  become  noisy  and 
excited.  At  this  hour  the  inn,  formerly  so  silent,  be- 
came the  rendezvous  for  the  servants  belonging  to 
the  chateau,  whose  Parisian  gayety,  wild  songs,  care- 
less self-possession,  red  breeches,  white  cravats,  and 
style  peculiar  to  aristocratic  serving  men,  were  be- 
ginning to  attract  the  young  peasants  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. The  cure,  therefore,  left  his  house  by  the 
side  door  and  descended  the  path  which  winds  along 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  and  turns  to  the  cha- 
teau, or  leads  to  the  charming  precincts  of  the  deep 
ravine  that  serves  as  an  enclosure  to  the  manor 
grounds,  according  to  whether  the  right  or  left  hand 
turning  is  taken. 

This  solitary  spot,  inhabited  during  the  day  by 
the  goats,  was  utterly  deserted  at  nightfall,  and  Abb6 
Itoche  liked  to  wander  there,  while  the  stars  gradual- 
ly appeared  in  the  heavens,  and  the  sounds  from  the 
village  died  away.  To  judge  only  by  appearances,  it 
might  be  supposed  that  our  cure  was  very  illogical 
and  inconsistent  to  walk  in  this  direction.  Yet  he 
did  so  only  to  conquer  his  impressible  senses  more 
entirely ;  he  wished  to  render  them  accustomed  to 
remain  at  rest  in  sight  of  the  walls  which  might  re- 
call the  memory  of  the  emotions  that  had  disturbed 
him.  He  went  there  with  his  troubled  thoughts,  as 
one  would  take  a  dog  out  walking,  whip  aiid  leash  in 
hand. 

-  The  picturesque  ravine,  in  whose  depths  the 
brook  of  Grand  Fort,  swollen  by  springs,  became  a  lit- 
tle brawling  torrent,  contained  one  spot  where  the  cure 
often  sat.  It  was  a  sort  of  narrow  platform,  suspend- 
ed, so  to  speak,  in  space,  among  crumbling  rocks  and 
trunks  of  trees,  half  uprooted  by  the  wintry  rains  and 


AROUND  A   SPRING.  89 

autumnal  tempests.  When  the  moon  rose  there  was 
a  splendid  view;  on  the  left,  a  gap  in  the  rocks  re- 
vealed a  portion  of  the  valley,  full  of  'white,  fleecy, 
motionless  vapors,  which  resembled  the  depths  of 
the  ocean.  Below,  and  nearly  opposite  to  him,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  ravine,  amid  the  fantastic  forms 
of  the  gnarled,  tAvisted  chestnut  trees,  rose  the  old 
chateau,  with  its  lofty  towers  concealed  by  sombre 
ivy,  and  its  pointed  roofs,  covered  with  blue  glitter- 
ing slates  that  reflected  the  moonlight  in  long  lines 
of  silver.  The  large  glass  doors  of  the  picture-gal- 
lery and  dining-room,  illuminated  by  the  lamps  and 
candles  burning  within,  could  also  be  plainly  seen. 
The  twinkling  gleam  of  the  cigars,  moving  about 
among  the  orange  trees  on  the  Ja\vn,  could  also  be 
perceived,  and  from  time  to  time  the  laughter  of  the 
smokers,  softened  by  distance  and  the  murmur  of 
the  torrent,  floated  on  the  air.  Often  too  the  shadow 
of  a  woman,  hooded  and  wrapped  in  a  large  opera- 
cloak,  joined  the  gentlemen.  The  cur6  watched  all 
this  quietly,  without  by  any  movement  expressing  the 
least  emotion ;  but  bit  his  lips  sternly,  when,  in  the 
shadowy  outline  of  the  phantom,  he  recognized  the 
countess. 


XTL 

On  one  of  these  evenings,  Abbe"  Roche  had  been 
seated  a  few  moments  in  the  place  I  have  just  men- 
tioned, listening  to  the  music  of  the  torrent,  and  look- 
ing at  the  chateau,  when  he  suddenly  heard  a  loud 
rustling  in  the  branches  a  few  yards  below  him.  The 
cows  and  goats  were  all  in  their  barns  at  that  hour 
of  the  night ;  yet  it  was  very  strange  that  any  one 
should  come  to  take  a  walk  in  that  steep  place.  He 
listened,  and  thought  he  heard  two  persons  convers- 
ing in  an  undertone.  Unfortunately  the  noise  of  the 


90  ABOUND  A  SPRING. 

water  prevented  his  distinguishing  the  meaning  of 
the  words.  The  two  voices  were  almost  equally 
sweet  and  shrill,  though  one  was  more  drawling  than 
the  other.  At  last,  either  the  speakers  had  approach- 
ed nearer,  or  the  abbe  had  increased  his  powers  of 
hearing  by  the  intentness  with  which  he  listened,  for 
he  distinguished  the  following  words  : 

"  Do  you  know,  my  little  savage,  that  I  almost 
lost  my  way  in  coming  here?  You  are  as  lamiliar 
with  every  inch  of  the  ravine  as  if  you  had  browsed 
here  like  the  goats;  but  let  us  stop  now.  How  do 
you  do  this  evening,  my  daughter?  Dear  me,  you 
are  in  full  dress !  " 

"  So  that  my  father  asked  where  I  was  going  in 
my  Sunday  clothes  ?  " 

••  And  what  did  you  say  to  your  father?  He  has 
a  famous  beard,  that  papa  of  yours  !  " 

"  I  told  him  I  was  going  to  the  castle,  to  carry 
some  of  the  cheeses  made  from  the  milk  of  our  goats, 
and  the  moss  the  countess  had  asked  me  to  bring  her 
to  place  under  the  fruits.  It  wasn't  true,  but  he  be- 
lieved it,  and  said  no  more." 

"  You  are  no  simpleton,  are  you  ?  " 

"  Xo,  indeed,  Monsieur  le  comte." 

'•  Take  off  your  cap,  so  that  I  can  look  at  your  hair. 
How  thin  your  arms  are  ! " 

"  I  am  just  as  thin  everywhere." 

"  But,  to  make  amends,  your  eyes  sparkle  brightlyj 
little  one.  Have  people  often  told  you  that  you  had 
handsome  hair  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,  Monsieur  le  comte,  of  course  they 
have,  and  it's  true  :  my  hair  is  still  longer  than  this, 
when  it  isn't  in  braids.  Shall  I  undo  them  ?  " 

"  Is  all  this  quantity  yours  ?  " 

••  Whose  should  it  be?" 

"  You  might  have  bought  it,  for  you  like  to  be  ad- 
mired." 

"  Bought  it  ?     Is  it  for  sale  ?     Oh  !  if  you  want 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  91 

to  buy  a  little  of  mine,  I  should  be  very  glad  to  dis- 
pose of  it,  for  I  have  too  much.     Is  it  for  sale,  truly  ?  " 

"  Certainly  it  is,  little  Velleda.  Do  you  know 
how  pretty  you  are,  my  dear,  with  your  big  eyes  ? 
Turn  this  way,  so  that  I  can  look  at  you.  Are  you 
always  as  pale  as  you  are  now  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  my  fault," 

"  I  am  not  scolding  you,  my  darling.  I  like  you 
just  as  you  are  :  it  makes  your  eyes  seem  darker,  and 
your  eyebrows  too.  Come  and  sit  down  by  me. — 
Well,  don't  be  so  uneasy ;  I  only  want  to  kiss  you. 
Are  you  not  willing  that  the  count  at  the  chateau 
should  give  you  a  kiss  ?  " 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  comte,  but  if  people  knew  it, 
they  would  think  lightly  of  me,  and  then  my  father — " 

••  Your  lather,  your  father — he  is  up  there  in  his 
hut.  We  are  alone.  Are  you  not  cold  with  that  little 
neck-handkerchief?  It  is  very  small,  my  poor  child, 
and  your  neck  is  bare." 

"  Oh !  I  am  used  to  the  evening  mists,  and  be- 
sides— " 

"  Besides  what  ? " 

"  It  is  the  most  becoming  one  I  have,  the  others 
don't  suit  me." 

"  I  told  you  that  you  liked  to  be  admired." 

"  And  I  didn't  say  it  was  not  so." 

"  Then  you  are  pleased  when  people  say  you  are 
pretty,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  That  depends  upon  who  says  so." 

u  When  it  happens  to  be  I,  do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then,  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh  Heavens  !  tell  me  why  ?  " 

"  Do  not  hold  me  so  close." 

"  It  is  only  to  keep  you  from  falling.  Tell  me 
why  do  you  love  me  V  Your  figure  is  very  supple, 
little  snake — you  are  like  the  pine  trees,  and  the  Avild 


92  ABOUND  A  SPJlL\(f. 

thyme.  Do  you  believe  in  ghosts  ?  Don't  you  hear 
voices  in  the  darkness  ?  Tell  me  whether  you  believe 
in  ghosts,  little  girl  ?  There,  don't  be  frightened. 
Why  do  you  love  me,  little  witch.  You  came  here 
astride  of  your  broomstick,  I  know  you  did.  Come, 
I  love  you  because  you  are  a  savage,  have  beautiful 
hair,  walk  about  barefooted,  fear  neither  rain,  wind, 
nor —  And  you,  now  it  is  your  turn." 

"  Bless  me,  I  don't  know — because — because — you 
are  not  like  other  people." 

"  Oh  !  she  is  a  flatterer  already." 

"  Is  your  ring  gold  ?  and  these  buttons  too  ? 
You  have  such  white  hands.  If  any  one  else  wore  a 
gold  ring,  it  would  be  ugly  ;  but  it  looks  well  on  you  : 
and  then,  when  you  kiss  me,  your  mustache  smells  so 
good." 

"  Ah  !  little  witch,  who  taught  you  to  say  all  that  ? 
Faith,  I  would  give  a  hundred  of  our  dolls  for  you. 
Why  do  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  You  hurt  me,  you  hold  me  so  tight." 

"  Once  more,  why  do  you  love  me  ?" 

"  You  are  the  count — 

"  Well !  you  are  turning  your  head  away  from  the 
count —  When  I  tell  you  to  keep  quiet,  little  wild 
goat  ? " 

It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  Abb6  Roche  had 
kept  silence  during  this  conversation.  He  had  listen- 
ed with  fixed  attention  and  compressed  lips,  feeling 
his  anger,  as  well  as  disgust  and  indignation,  constantly 
increasing.  Was  the  last  of  the  de  Manteigneys  to 
bring  nothing  but  trouble  and  wretchedness  into  the 
country  ?  While  the  servants  disturbed  the  village 
with  their  noisy  songs,  was  the  master  to  mislead  the 
maidens  ?  Had  all  these  people  determined  among 
themselves  to  utterly  demoralize  the  mountains.  The 
priest  remembered  the  instinctive  aversion  which  he 
had  felt  at  the  first  sight  of  this  ill-formed,  puny, 
impertinent  little  being ;  then,  by  a  logical  sequence 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  '  93 

of  thought,  suddenly  beheld  the  woman  who  had  mar- 
ried this  baboon,  and  said  to  himself: — u  She  is  ex- 
pecting him  now,  and  is  perfectly  undisturbed,  poor 
woman  ! " 

IShe  appeared  to  be  all  the  more  pure  a  victim  be- 
cause the  count's  crime  seemed  utterly  monstrous. 
He  had  a  most  ardent  desire  to  anticipate  divine  jus- 
tice, leap  over  the  few  yards  that  separated  him  from 
the  speakers,  and  let  the  wretch  feel  the  full  weight 
of  his  stick  ;  then,  in  spite  of  his  wrath,  he  thought  of 
the  scandal,  the  sorrow  that  the  poor  young  wife  would 
feel.  However  guilty  he  might  be,  the  count  belong- 
ed to  an  illustrious  race ;  he  represented  the  noble 
family  of  the  lords  of  Manteigney;and  had  he,  a  poor 
cure,  sprung  from  nobody  knew  where,  however  just 
his  indignation  might  be,  the  right  to  punish  a  cul- 
prit protected  by  long  ages  of  nobility  and  grandeur  ? 
Besides,  this  was  probably  only  the  beginning  of  their 
intimacy.  The  count  was  thoughtless,  but  surely  in- 
capable of  carrying  matters  farther  and  injuring  a  child 
who  trusted  him  so  frankly.  His  duty  as  a  priest  im- 
posed the  necessity  of  acting  with  prudence  and 
calmness.  He  would  hud  means  of  putting  an  end  to 
the  matter ;  he  would  speak  to  the  girl,  who  was  not 
unreasonable — he  would  do  his  best. 

These  thoughts  succeeded  each  other  in  the  cure's 
brain  with  wonderful  rapidity.  Meantime,  as  he 
heard  no  more,  and  feared  to  lose  his  self-control  if  he 
remained  longer,  he  pushed  aside  the  branches  that 
surrounded  him,  and  forcing  a  passage,  regained  the 
narrow  path  by  which  he  had  come.  As  tiie  brush- 
wood rustled  under  his  feet,  he  heard  the  count's 
voice  behind  him,  saying  in  a  suppressed  tone : — 
"  Who  is  there — zounds  !  who  is  there  :*  " 

Abbe  Roche  followed  the  path,  not  without  some 
difficulty,  for  as  he  advanced  among  the  trees,  the 
darkness  increased,  and  the  way  became  more  intri- 
cate. At  last,  turning  to  the  left,  he  found  himself 


94  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

in  the  road  that  led  to  the  village.  He  had  not  ad- 
vanced thirty  paces,  when  he  saw  something  white, 
under  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  which  chanced  to  at- 
tract his  attention.  He  approached  it,  and  found  him- 
self face  to  face  with  pere  Loursiere's  daughter,  press- 
ing closely  against  the  trunk  of  a  chestnut  tree,  and 
staring  at  him  with  her  large,  wide  open  eyes. 

At  the  noise  made  by  the  cure,  she  had  left  the 
count,  and  taking  the  shortest  way,  climbing  the  steep 
slope  like  a  roe,  posted  herself  on  the  side  of  the  road, 
very  sure  that  whoever  had  interrupted  them  must 
pass  that  way  to  return  to  the  village,  and  she  might 
recognize  him  without  being  seen.  Unfortunately, 
the  cure  had  excellent  eyes. 

"  What !  is  that  you,  Monsieur  le  cur6  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  I.  Where  did  you  come  from  at  this 
hour  ? — where  did  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  I  came  from  beyond  the  path,  down  below,  and 
I  am  going  directly  home — it  is  late." 

They  walked  on  for  a  moment  without  uttering  a 
Avord.  Abbe  Koche  felt  that  he  was  too  deeply 
moved,  and  wished  to  calm  himself  before  speaking. 
He  had  always  loved  the  poor  child  on  account  of 
her  delicate  health  and  strange,  pallid  countenance, 
which  resembled  that  of  the  mother  who  had  died 
in  giving  her  birth. 

The  priest's  voice  at  first  had  been  stern  and  se- 
vere ;  he  continued  in  a  mild,  sad  tone  : 

"  You  are  forgetting  God,  my  child." 

"  But,  Monsieur  le  cur6, 1  came  from  the  chateau — 
on  account  of  the  cheeses." 

"  Do  not  tell  a  lie,  unhappy  girl !  I  tell  you  that 
you  are  forgetting  God,  who  remembers  and  sees 
you.  You  know  what  I  mean :  we  will  speak  of  it 
at  some  future  time.  Go  home  to  the  father  who  is 
waiting  for  you — this  is  your  way." 

And  the  cure  pointed  to  the  path,  bordered  with 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  95 

pine  trees,  that  turned  in  another  direction,  a  few 
paces  beyond. 

"  But,  Monsieur  le  cure",  I  was  coming  from  the 
chateau." 

"  Do  not  tell  a  lie!  Return  to  your  father's  house,  be 
quick ;  you  must  not  be  found  here  at  this  hour,  and 
I  hear  some  one  coming  this  way.  Make  haste." 

They  did  indeed  hear  the  footsteps  of  two  men, 
who  were  coming  from  the  village.  Doubtless  the 
turn  in  the  road  had  deadened  the  sound  of  their 
steps,  and  Abbe  Roche  suppose'd  them  to  be  farther 
away  than  they  really  were,  for  they  appeared  almost 
immediately,  arm  in  arm,  staggering  from  side  to 
side. 

"  Good-evening,  Monsieur  le  cure,"  said  pere  Sap- 
pey,  "  a  very  good-evening  to  you,"  and  he  added, 
with  a  singularly  embarrassed  manner,  turning  to  his 
companion,  who  was  one  of  the  count's  grooms  : — 
"  This  is  my  friend,  Francois  ;  he  offered  to  treat  me, 
and  now  we  are  going  back  to  the  chateau.  But  who 
is  that  yonder  running  into  the  path  edged  with  fir 
trees,  Monsieur  le  cure ! — I  don't  see  double  yet — 

"  Go  home,  and  go  to  bed,  pere  Sappey,  you  need 
to  do  so,  and  your  \vife  is  waiting  for  you." 

"  But  no,  I  don't  see  double.  That  is  certainly 
Marie,  Loursiere's  daughter.  Oh  !  so  you  no  longer 
pay  good-evening  to  people  ?  Where  did  she  come 
from  at  this  hour,  M.  le  cure  ?  How  late  young  peo- 
ple go  to  bed  now  ?  " 

"  I  came  from  the  castle,"  cried  the  young  girl, 
without  turning. 

"  Go  home,  you  are  late,"  said  Abb6  Roche  in  a 
curt  tone,  "  and  you,  Sappey,  had  better  do  the  same." 

"  I  am  not  sleepy,  Monsieur  le  cur6,"  replied  the 
peasant,  smiling  in  the  usual  manner  of  happy  drunk- 
ards. "  Isn't  that  so,  Francois,  we're  not  sleepy." 

"  Perhaps  Monsieur  le  cur6  doesn't  care  to  sleep 
any  more  than  we  do,"  answered  the  groom,  looking 


96  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

in  the  direction  in  which  the  young  girl  had  disap- 
peared. 

"  The  scoundrels  !  "  he  murmured,  clenching  his 
fists,  "  the  servant  is  worthy  of  the  master." 

And  he  moved  quickly  away. 


XITL 

Abbe"  Roche  slept  but  very  little  that  night ;  he 
still  heard  the  stupid  laughter  of  the  two  drunken 
men.  It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  encountered 
such  insolence  in  his  parish,  and  his  blood  boiled  in 
spite  of  himself.  He  also  heard  M.  de  Manteigney's 
shrill  voice  addressing  Loursiere's  daughter !  the  scene 
in  the  ravine  was  painted  by  his  imagination  with 
vivid  reality.  He  saw  the  puny  little  nobleman  clasp- 
ing the  poor  young  girl  in  his  arms,  gazing  at  her  with 
mocking,  bold,  insolent  looks.  And  while  the  priest 
vainly  closed  his  eyes  that  he  might  not  see,  the  emo- 
tions conquered  in  silence  once  more  awoke  within 
him.  He  thought  of  the  tender  affections  which 
still  sometimes  appeared  to  him  as  most  enchanting 
to  contemplate,  sublime,  purified  by  the  union  of 
souls,  and  the  benediction  of  God.  The  count  seemed 
still  more  repulsive  to  him !  his  feelings  were  not 
worthy  the  name  of  love.  God  would  not  permit 
the  word  to  be  sullied  by  being  put  to  such  a  use. 
What  was  it  but  mere  sensuality,  in  which  the  heart 
has  no  share. 

Had  vice  then  a  positive  charm  for  certain  char- 
acters ?  He  remembered  the  singular  books,  written 
in  graphic  style,  in  Latin,  which  had  been  put  before 
him  on  leaving  the  university,  and  had  left  no  more 
visible  trace  on  his  pure,  upright  soul  than  some 
passing  nightmare  does  upon  the  mind.  Had  these 
books,  filled  with  all  the  immorality  of  the  human 
soul,  which  might  have  passed  for  the  secret  registers 


AROUND  A   SPRING.  97 

of  the  police  in  Sodom,  any  foundation  in  reality  ? 
Were  they  a  faithful  mirror  in  which  certain  men 
might  recognize  themselves?  What  was  there  lacking 
in  the  life  of  this  infatuated  count  ?  He  had  no  toil 
or  suffering.  Was  not  his  task  the  easiest  in  the 
world  ?  To  be  virtuous  without  effort  or  difficulty ; 
to  walk  uprightly  in  the  pleasant  path  which  God 
made  smooth  before  him,  doubtless  that  it  might  be 
more  easy  for  him  to  guard  the  sacred  virtues  of 
which  his  birth  made  him  the  depository. 

The  poor  cure  excused  vice  among  the  wretched 
of  the  world;  but  his  pure  heart  could  not  under- 
stand it  in  this  privileged  nobleman,  who  had  family 
ties,  could  enjoy  all  legitimate  pleasures,  and  was  so 
richly  gifted  that,  having  nothing  to  desire,  he  was 
shielded  from  the  human  temptations  which  corrupt 
and  destroy — in  this  gentleman  who,  in  return  for 
these  benefits,  had  only  to  endure  the  delightful  bur- 
den of  gratitude  to  God.  Must  he  not  be  a  monster, 
and  what  could  have  been  the  design  of  Providence 
in  uniting,  with  indissoluble  bonds,  such  a  being  to 
that  poor  wife  ?  How  she  must  have  suffered — how 
she  must  still  suffer !  Was  not  her  apparent  frivolity, 
her  incomprehensible  coquetry,  the  extravagance  of 
her  dress,  a  mere  mask,  beneath  which  she  strove  to 
conceal  the  anguish  of  her  heart  ? 

How  clearly  everything  was  now  explained  !  The 
peculiar  charm  of  her  person  was  only  that  of  grief. 
Instinctively  he  had  formed  a  correct  judgment  of 
her.  She  sought  to  divert  her  thoughts ;  she  was  a 
victim.  Had  she  been  a  hundred  times  more  coquet- 
tish and  worldly,  the  tones  of  her  voice,  the  dreamy 
expression  of  her  glance,  dimmed  by  sorrow,  were 
sufficient  to  reveal  her  tender,  suffering  soul.  She 
was  not  only  unhappy,  but  had  also  the  rare  virtue  of 
concealing  her  grief;  doubtless  she  did  not  wish  the 
world  to  despise  the  man  whose  name  she  bore,  she 
desired  to  save  the  honor  of  the  de  Manteigncys,  and 


98  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

feigned  these  careless  manners  to  avert  suspicion, 
lie  understood  her  now.  All  was  explained,  even  to 
the  caresses  lavished  npon  her  father.  The  poor,  de- 
serted, insulted  wife,  scorned  by  this  misshapen  fiend, 
took  refuge  in  filial  love.  Who  among  the  brainless 
fools  that  surrounded  her  could  sustain  her  by  good 
counsel,  cheer  her  with  a  kindly  word  ?  "How  many 
martyrs  there  are  in  this  world  whom  only  God 
knows  !  "  added  the  priest,  clasping  his  hands. 

As  he  yielded  more  and  more  to  the  current  of 
these  thoughts,  a  feeling  of  the  most  ardent  compas- 
sion and  charity  completely  overpowered  him.  He 
shuddered  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  Why  should  God  have  placed  me  in  the  path  of 
this  suffering  soul  ? "  said  he  to  himself;  "  why  should 
He  have  permitted  me  to  perceive  its  agony  ?  why 
should  He  have  caused  me  to  experience,  at  the  first 
sight  of  this  unhappy  woman,  such  an  extraordinary 
sympathy  that  I  was  terrified  by  it  ? " 

The  priest  now  dared  to  confess  to  himself  the 
deep  agitation  that  he  had  felt.  It  no  longer  seemed 
to  him  a  mere  physical  sensation,  for  which  a  learned 
man  could  have  given  the  formula,  it  was  the  emotion 
of  two  souls  that  God  wished  to  bring  together. 

Abbe  Roche  opened  his  window  and  inhaled  the 
morning  air.  All  around  him  was  pure  and  fresh. 
The  birds  were  singing  in  the  gigantic  chestnut  tree 
that  overhung  the  porch ;  the  sun  was  dispelling  the 
lingering  mists  of  night,  and  making  the  dew-drops 
trickling  from  the  petals  of  the  flowers  that  filled  his 
garden  sparkle  in  its  rays.  Among  the  various  sounds 
of  the  morning  might  be  distinguished  the  sheep-bells, 
whose  silvery  notes  rang  from  the  distance.  It 
seemed  like  a  promise — a  hope.  Poor  woman  !  Was 
not  the  thought  of  her  still  more  sorrowful,  amid 
these  tranquil,  peaceful  scenes  ? 

He  was  in  the  midst  of  these  reflections  when  he 
perceived  Mme.  de  Manteigney  herself,  on  the  other 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  99 

side  of  the  little  square,  accompanied  by  two  children, 
who  were  eagerly  devouring  a  large  slice  of  brown 
bread.  The  young  wife  wore  an  extremely  cool  and 
pretty  morning  dress.  Her  head  was  enveloped  in  a 
coquettish  little  hood,  made  of  a  sort  of  white,  woolly 
lace,  through  whose  meshes  a  narrow  blue  ribbon  Avas 
carelessly  twisted,  as  if  to  form  a  frame  for  her  beau- 
tiful face,  glowing  from  exposure  to  the  morning  air, 
while  her  large  black  eyes,  sparkling  amidst  the 
white  folds,  seemed  to  warm  the  heart  in  spite  of  the 
intervening  distance. 

When  within  a  few  paces  of  the  house,  she  looked 
up,  and  smiled  as  she  saw  Abbe  Roche. 

"  You  see,  Monsieur  le  cure,  I  have  made  friends 
on  the  way,  these  are  two  of  your  parishioners.  Don't 
you  want  to  be  my  friend  ?— tell  me,  cherry  cheeks  ?  " 

So  saying,  she  patted  the  neck  of  one  of  the  chil- 
dren, who  was  silently  giggling  behind  his  slice  of 
bread. 

"  Are  you  not  astonished  to  see  me  out  walking  so 
early  in  the  morning  Monsieur  le  cure"  ?" 

"  It  is  a  quarter  often,  Madame,"  said  Abbe  Roche. 

"  What !  ten  o'clock  already  !  Well,  I  sent  word 
to  Mile,  de  "Rougeon,  who  wished  to  come  and  visit 
you  with  me,  and  was  told  that  she  was  not  up  yet. 
So  I  boldly  set  out  all  alone." 

While  she  said  these  words,  the  priest  gazed 
earnestly  into  her  face,  trying  to  detect  in  some  fea- 
ture of  her  countenance  the  signs  of  the  deep  grief  to 
which  he  believed  her  a  prey. 

"  Are  people  admitted  to  your  house,  Monsieur  le 
cure  ?  I  have  something  to  say — " 

"  Good  Heavens !  what  is  the  unhappy  woman 
goirfg  to  confide  to  me  ? "  murmured  the  worthy 
priest. 

"  You  promised  to  tell  me  about  your  poor  people. 
They  shall  be  mine.  Oh !  I  wish  to  do  good :  I  am 
anxious  to  perform  deeds  of  charity,  I  shall  go  and 


100  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

visit  my  proteges  to-morrow,  and  carry  them  a  quan 
tity  of  nice  things,  in  spite  of  the  bad  roads.  You  do 
not  know  me;  I  have  a  great  deal  of  energy  when  I 
undertake  anything.  Besides,  tha  doctor  told  me  that 
I  needed  exercise.  Oh !  how  pretty  your  house  is, 
my  dear  cure  !  How  happy  you  must  be  here !  It  is 
so  quiet,  simple,  and  pleasant  —  and  these  flowers 
around  the  window !  This  is  just  what  I  like,  what  I 
have  always  dreamed  of;  a  little  retreat,  a  hermitage, 
silence,  solitude,  and  Avail  flowers.  Would  you  be- 
lieve that  they  refused  to  let  me  have  one  poor  little 
pot  of  wall-flowers  on  my  window  at  the  chateau  ?  I 
have  such  simple  tastes,  my  dear  cur6, 1  believe  I  was 
born  to  be  a  shepherdess.  Don't  you  believe  me?" 

"  Can  she  confess  her  sadness  more  clearly,  in 
spite  of  her  assumed  gayety  ?  "  thought  Abbe  Roche, 
and  added,  not  without  involuntary  emotion,  u  What 
could  make  you  suppose  that  I  do  not  believe  you  ? 
Words,  I  know,  are  often  deceitful :  the  soul  has  its 
secrets.  A  smile  on  the  lips  may  at  first  mislead, 
but—" 

"  I  was  sure,"  said  the  countess  to  herself,  "  that 
my  cur6  had  some  terrible  wound  in  his  heart :  I 
must  not  alarm  him  about  it.  By  the  way,  I  haven't 
told  you  that  my  white  donkey  is  coming,  the  donkey 
that  papa  gave  me  to  ride.  I  remember,  now,  that  I 
did  speak  to  you  about  it,  only  I  have  changed  the 
color  of  the  rosettes,  they  are  to  be  crimson.  What 
do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  think  that  crimson  rosettes  will  be  very  pretty, 
Madame." 

"  Won't  it  be  charming  ? " 

She  clapped  her  hands,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  as 
if  they  were  speaking  of  some  very  important  matter. 

The  cure's  clear  understanding  of  the  case  was  be- 
ginning to  get  cloudy  again.  It  was  in  vain  that  he 
watched  her,  with  the  most  earnest  attention ;  her 
gayety  was  not  feigned,  or  else  she  was  impenetrable. 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  101 

Was  it  possible  that  so  young  a  woman  could  have 
strength  and  skill  to  dissemble  her  feelings  so  per- 
fectly ?  Perhaps,  after  all,  her  unworthy  husband 
had  had  the  infernaj.  art  to  deceive  her  concerning  his 
conduct  until  now ;  perhaps  she  was  ignorant  of  the 
character  of  this  accomplished  rake.  He  now  had 
only  a  partial  belief  in  the  utter  wretchedness  of  the 
countess,  and  yet  he  felt  his  sympathy  increasing  as 
the  idea  which  he  fancied  had  given  it  birth  lost  its 
reality.  Must  not  this  poor  child  be  very  innocent 
to  be  so  deceived,  and  were  not  her  jests,  artlessness, 
and  trifling  conversation  a  most  convincing  proof  of 
her  extreme  candor  ? 

"  You  know,"  she  continued,  "  I  should  like  to 
take  my  poor  people  some  bottles  of  nice  Bordeaux 
wine,  tempting  porridge,  or  sometimes  a  cutlet.  All 
these  things  will  be  very  difficult  to  transport,  and  very 
heavy  to  Sophie." 

"  Who  is  Sophie  ?  " 

"  My  white  donkey — she  is  already  christened." 
The  priest  could  not  help  smiling.  "  You  think  me 
very  frivolous,  don't  you  ?  Do  not  apologize,  I  read 
it  in  your  eyes,  and  am  not  surprised ;  but  when  you 
know  me  better  you  will  find  that,  on  the  contrary, 
there  is  no  one  more  serious.  Oh  !  if  you  want  a 
frivolous  person,  one  who  is  really  so,  you  should  see 
Mile,  de  Kougeon,  with  her  aflected  air,  her  extrava- 
gant conversation.  She  is  a  person  who  can  be  read 
at  the  first  glance." 

"  The  young  girl  is  undoubtedly  a  little — " 

"  A  little  !  Oh  !  I  protest  against  your,  a  little. 
My  dear  cure,  say  that  she  is  remarkably  so.  She  is 
unusually,  unpardonably  so.  A  little !  oh !  for  in- 
stance !  —  but  I  have  interrupted  you ;  excuse  me. 
She  is  a  little,  you  said — a  little  what  ?  " 

"  A  little— what  shall  I  say  ?  " 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha !  that  is  capital." 

"What  is  capital  ?  " 


J02  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

"Excellent!  excellent!  It  is  exactly  so,  she  is 
much  too — what  shall  I say?  She  sacrifices  every- 
thing to  what  shall  I  say.  Take  away  her  what  shall 
I  say,  and  what  remains — a  doll,  a  pair  of  nippers." 

"  Indeed,  countess,  I — 

"  You  will  be  surprised,  but  I  cannot  endure  her, 
nor  her  father  either.  That  man  is  as  irritating  as  a 
gutter." 

"  Oh !  oh  !  that  is  slander,"  said  Abb6  Roche — 
who  in  his  heart  was  pleased  with  her  severity — "  but 
why  do  you  say  as  a  gutter,"  he  continued  with  some 
little  hesitation. 

"  Oh  !  so  everything  must  be  explained  to  you  ! — 
Well,  a  gutter  when  it  rains,  a  gutter  that  is  always 
dripping,  tic  toe,  tic  toe.  That  is  easily  understood. 
M.  de  Rougeon  reminds  me  of  a  walking  bolster, 
don't  you  agree  with  me  ?  As  to  his  wife — " 

"  Mme.  de  Rougeon  is  very  agreeable,  she  seems 
so  amiable,  so — " 

"  She  ?  she  is  like  a  lemon  under  a  peach  skin." 

"  A  lemon  !  you  mean  that  she  has  a  sour  dispo- 
sition ?  " 

"  Mme.  de  Rougeon  amiable !  If  that  woman 
should  spit  into  the  Seine,  it  would  turn  to  lemonade, 
and  her  daughter  is  just  like  her,  that  is  my  opinion. 
Do  you  think  me  spiteful  ?  Confess  that  you  do." 

"Rather  severe,"  said  the  priest,  with  a  slight 
smile.  In  fact  he  did  not  consider  her  spiteful.  The 
prattle  which  a  week  ago  had  seemed  absurd  and  in- 
comprehensible, now  appeared  full  of  grace  and  inge- 
nuity. He  found  a  peculiar  charm  in  this  piquant 
irony,  exaggerated  though  it  was ;  there  was  an  at- 
traction in  its  childish  candor ;  then  she  accompanied 
her  jests  with  such  pretty  gestures,  emphasized  her 
words  with  such  bewitching  little  grimaces  !  He  list- 
ened to  her  with  his  eyes.  How  could  he  censure 
words  that  increased  her  beauty  ?  "  You  see,  my  dear 
cur6, 1  cannot  approve — perhaps  I  am  a  little  too  strict. 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  103 

but  that  is  my  disposition — I  cannot  approve  of  young 
girls  wearing  rouge.  If  you  had  seen  her  at  the  last 
naval  ball,  it  was  enough  to  make  one  cry  out.  And 
such  a  dress  !  A  yard  of  gauze,  and  a  rose  bud  !  It 
is  no  use  to  say  that  sailors  are  never  surprised  at  any 
tiling  because  they  travel  about  so  much ;  I  assure 
you  that  the  little  simpleton  made  quite  a  sensation. 
By  the  way,  I  can  show  her  to  you  in  her  costume." 

"  Oh  !  Madame,"  exclaimed  the  priest. 

"  It  is  only  a  drawing  of  the  dress,  I  mean  to  show 
you.  The  illustrated  papers  all  copied  it." 

"  Oh  !  good  Heavens." 

"  You  are  amazed,  are  you  not  ?  But  I  am  not 
exaggerating." 

Abb6  Roche's  face  did,  in  truth,  express  the  ut- 
most astonishment. 

"  I  pray  Heaven,  dear  lady,"  said  he,  "  that  there 
may  be  some  little  exaggeration  in  your  words,  for  I 
cannot  believe  that  any  young  girl,  in  the  midst  of  a 
civilized  population,  would  appear  in  public  in  the 
repulsive  costume  you  have  just  described." 

"  Ah !  repulsive  is  just  the  word.  She  was  so 
thin,  her  garments  were  so  scanty,  she  looked  so 
wooden,  so  what  shall  I  say  !  Ha  !  ha  !  ha !  " 

"  But  the  rouge,  I  don't  understand  the  rouge ; 
such  things  seem  like  the  customs  of  savages  !  I  know 
that  it  used  to  be  done ;  but  that  is  no  reason — " 

"  That  is  what  I  always  say ;  it  is  like  savages. 
To  daub  one's  cheeks  with  rouge  till  one  looks  like  a 
post-man  behind  time,  is  absurd.  The  old  bundles 
may  do  it,  I  can  understand  that." 

"  What  old  bundles  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  I  call  them  old  bundles :  Mme.  de 
Vautin,  the  baroness  de  Fernac,  the  fat  duchess  of 
Blanmon.  At  that  age,  coquetry  becomes  a  mad 
struggle — a  matter  of  life  and  death." 

The  priest  opened  his  eyes ;  he  was  bewildered, 
uneasy,  charmed,  terrified  by  these  fire-works. 


104  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

"  Ah !  well,  they  do  as  they  like ;  I  can  pardon 
them.  Dear  me !  who  knows  whether,  if  I  were  in 
the  place  of  those  old  warriors,  I  might  not  do  the 
same.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha !  In  life,  one  must  weigh  the  pros 
and  cons  of  everything;  and  not  do  to  others  what 
one  woiild  not  wish  others — isn't  it  so,  M.  le  cure  ?  " 

So  saying,  the  countess  looked  around  the  apart- 
ment through  her  eye-glass,  rose  unceremoniously  to 
examine  something  more  closely,  and  then  suddenly 
sat  down  again,  exclaiming :  "  Do  you  know  that  you 
have  a  beautiful  crucifix ;  is  it  plaster  ?  " 

"  No,  Madame,  it  is  a  fine  carving  on  ivory." 

t;  You  should  say  magnificent ;  it  is  a  work  of  art. 
But  the  velvet  and  frame  ought  to  be  renewed  ;  there 
is  a  piece  broken.  I  have  been  searching,  for  more 
than  a  year,  in  every  corner  of  Paris  to  find  one  like 
it.  Now,  my  dear  cure,  to  return  to  what  we  were 
saying,  do  not  suppose  that  I  am  intolerant,  and 
condemn  society  from  the  summit  of  my  little  ped- 
estal; it  is  not  so,  I  am  really  very  indulgent — I,  too, 
have  my  weaknesses,  and  am  no  better  than  any  one 
else.  I  am  well  aware  that  a  woman  who  goes  into 
society  must  follow  the  fashions,  and  adapt  herself 
to  customs.  It  is  the  excess,  the  abuse  of  these  things, 
that  I  condemn.  Dear  me !  I  have  worn  rouge  my- 
self once  or  twice  for  amusement.  Now  a  tinge  of 
black,  under  the  eyes  and  in  the  eyebrows,  harms  no 
one,  and  forms  a  part  of  one's  dress ;  it  is  like  a  sip 
of  Bordeaux  when  one  is  tired,  it  gives  expression  to 
the  countenance." 

"  You  are  very  indulgent  to — " 

"  To  myself  ?  You  are  sarcastic,  Monsieur  le 
cure\" 

"  What !  to  yourself ! " 

"  You  are  jesting,  probably ;  I  suppose  you  saw 
at  once  that  I  pencilled  my  eyes  !  Oh  !  I  don't  deny 
it.  I  put  a  little  brown  there  in  the  corner,  and  on 
the  lashes,  too,  and  then  I  stump  them  all  around. 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  105 

What  would  you  have  ?  it  is  the  custom ; — but  you 
have  undoubtedly  noticed  it,  it's  plain  enough." 

Abb6  Roche  could  not  restrain  an  exclamation  of 
surprise.  He  stood  motionless  with  astonishment, 
with  fixed  eyes  and  parted  lips,  and  instinctively 
clasped  his  hands.  It  was  not  indignation  that  he  felt, 
nor  the  pious  anger  of  the  priest,  against  the  guilty 
follies  of  the  sinner,  but  the  sorrowful  surprise  of  a 
man  who  sees  a  beautiful  dream  disappear.  The  an- 
gel had  false  wings !  The  touching  expression  of  the 
glance  that  agitated  him,  in  which  he  had  fancied  he 
could  read  the  emotions  of  a  pure  and  delicate  soul, 
was  the  work  of  artifice !  Was  there  naught  but 
falsehood  and  trickery  in  the  world  of  which  he  now 
caught  a  glimpse  for  the  first  time  ?  And  yet  he 
clung  to  the  vanished  illusion,  and  said  to  himself: 
"  She  yields  to  the  follies  of  society,  she  may  perhaps 
change  the  expression  of  her  eyes,  but  her  gestures, 
her  voice,  with  its  musical  tones,  are  her  own ;  the 
charming  artlessness  of  her  conversation—" 

"  You  think  me  a  coquette,  and  it  grieves  you," 
said  the  countess,  who  had  murmured  in  an  under- 
tone :  "  How  strangely  the  good  cure  looks  at  me-! 
He  makes  me  blush  under  his  grave  glance.  How 
singular  it  is.  Poor  cure !  It  is  really  very  odd." 

She  hastily  drew  off  her  glove  of  undressed  kid, 
which  was  somewhat  too  large  for  her,  and  looking 
at  the  rosy,  polished  nails  to  conceal  the  smile  that 
flickered  around  her  lips :  "  Do  you  think  me  a  flirt  ? " 
she  continued,  with  such  satirical  humility,  such  evi- 
dent impenitence,  that  she  seemed  to  add :  "  Confess 
that  I  have  good  reason  to  be  ! " 

All  these  subtle  meanings  escaped  the  cur6,  or 
rather  he  yielded  to  their  charm  without  understand- 
ing or  explaining  it. 

"  I  think  all  such  things  very  wrong,"  said  he  at 
last,  with  evident  eiFort. 

"  You  are  right,  M.  le  cure,  strike,  oh  !  strike  with- 


106  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

out  fear.  I  do  not  resist  your  blows,  but  you  do  not 
know  how  hard  it  is  to  escape  the  infection." 

"  Oh  !  undoubtedly  you  would  not  have  done  all 
this  of  your  own  free  will,  of  course  not.  You  have 
too  noble  a  soul,  for — This  ink,  these  paints — all  this 
exceeds  the  bounds  of  the  imagination — " 

He  was  in  torture,  for  even  while  condemning 
these  miserable  artifices,  he  could  not  help  looking  at 
the  face  of  the  young  wife,  and  confessing  that  the 
result  was  extremely  pretty. 

"  You  would  never  have  thought  of  these  things 
if  other  young  women  around  you — silly,  thought- 
less—" 

"  Certainly  not.  I  think  I  have  already  told  you 
so :  if  I  followed  only  my  own  tastes,  my  own  im- 
pulses, I  should  live — I  am  not  jesting,  I  should  live 
in  a  desert,  and  wear  a  dress  that  cost  fifteen  cents  a 
yard  !  I  have  seen  lovely  ones.  I  should  like  to  have 
it  fit  well,  that  is  all.  People  think  that  we  are 
amused  because  we  go  a  great  deal  into  society;  they 
are  wonderfully  mistaken,  I  assure  you.  Oh,  dear ! 
these  pleasures  are  very  empty,  Monsieur  le  cure." 

"  Yes,  yes,  that  is  true,"  cried  the  priest,  with  sud- 
den animation. 

The  countess's  remark  had  cheered  his  heart,  it 
was  a  relief  to  him.  She  was  only  thoughtless,  car- 
ried away  by  excitement  and  the  example  of  others. 

"  What  would  I  not  have  given,"  continued  Mine, 
de  Manteigney,  gazing  at  the  ceiling  with  a  heavy 
sigh,  "  what  would  I  not  have  often  given,  to  remain 
at  home  by  my  fireside,  and  not  put  on  the  uniform 
of  a  fashionable  woman." 

"  How  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  However  power- 
ful may  be  the  whirlpool  that  attracts  it,  the  soul 
sometimes  desires  to  reflect,  to  look  within  itself,  and 
think  of  its  destiny.  Then  all  these  false  pleasures 
become  insipid  and  pitiful." 

"  That  is  not  all :  toilettes  are  not  always  success- 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  107 

ful.  At  the  last  moment  the  waist  does  not  fit,  the 
hair-dressing  is  a  failure,  or  one's  eyes  are  red  on  ac- 
count of  a  cold  in  the  head,  which  came  on  the  very 
morning  on  leaving  the  church  after  mass,  etc.,  etc." 

"  Those  are  very  trifling  annoyances." 

"  Ah  !  you  can  talk  at  your  ease,  my  dear  cure", 
you  who  live  very  quietly  under  the  snow,  before  a 
nice  little  fire,  while  we  are  running  all  over  Paris  to 
keep  up  our  acquaintances.  You  do  not  understand 
this  business  :  it  is  terribly  hard,  sometimes  !  '  You 
know,  my  dear,  that  we  are  to  go  to  Mme.  de  Blai- 
seme's  to-morrow,'  says  my  husband.  '  Oh,  dear ! 
we  must,  we  really  must,  we  have  not  been  there 
this  winter.' — '  You  have  not  forgotten  the  prefect's 
to-night,  I  hope,  my  darling.' — '  Oh  !  papa,  not  the 
prefect's  ! ' — "*  You  know,  my  dear,  that  it  is  absolutely 
necessary.  If  it  were  not  for  this  question  about 
the  gas,  you  may  be  sure  that  I  would  not  tease  you ; 
but  just  as  the  contract  is  about  to  be  signed,  we 
can't,  Oh!  so  you  are  very  unwilling.  Why,  by 
the  time  you  arrive,  every  one  will  be  going  away, 
they  won't  stay  to  be  obliged  to  mount  on  the  arm- 
chairs.' Xaturally  I  swallow  the  prefect." 

"  What !  are  your  father  and  the  count  the  first  to 
lead  you  into  these  gayeties,  poor  lady  ?  " 

"  You  do  not  understand  men,  my  dear  cur6  ? 
Suppose  I  should  tell  you  that  if  it  had  not  been  for 
papa  and  my  husband  I  should  never  have  dyed  my 
hair,  never !  I  wept  before  I  decided  to  do  it.  Ah  ! 
I  wept  bitterly.  You  may  think  I  am  jesting,  but 
indeed  I  should  never  have  determined  upon  it,  if  I 
had  been  left  to  myself." 

"  You  dye  your  hair !  What — what  do  you  mean  ? 
Why  should  you  dye  your  hair  ?  Can  people  really 
color  it  ?  Are  you  speaking  seriously  ?  Poor  young 
wife,  poor,  hapless  young  wife  !  What  could  be  their 
object  ?  " 

••  The  object !   the  object ! — they  thought  that  it 


108  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

would  be  becoming  to  me,  and  besides,  it  is  the 
fashion.  Papa  said  to  me :  '  My  dear  child,  you 
must  not  be  odd ;  as  all  the  ladies  dye  their  hair. 
Besides,  you  will  be  perfectly  charming  ! '  And,  in- 
deed, it  is  extremely  pretty,  but  that  is  not  the  ques- 
tion. My  husband  added :  '  My  dear,  you  have  the 
prudish  notions  of  a  little  shop  girl.  Mme.  de  Blai- 
serne  has  worn  golden  hair  since  day  before  yester- 
day— it  is  beautiful.  Try  it,  you  will  be  lovely  ! ' 
Yet  still  I  wept," 

"  Ah  !  good  Heavens,  and  they  insisted  ?  " 
"  Yes,  yes,  they  insisted.     It  was  all  in  vain   that 
I  said  to  them :  Suppose  my  hair  should  be  burnt  by 
those  horrible  chemicals  !  " 

"  They  answered  :     '  It  is  impossible.'  " 
"  But  you  resisted — you  did  not  yield — " 
"  It  must  be  confessed  that  I  yielded,  since  my 
hair  is  now  yellow  as  corn,  and  when  a  child,  it  was 
black  as  a  raven's  wing." 
"  What !  this  hair— 

"  It  is  mine.  Ah  !  I  won't  exaggerate,  the  front 
hair  is  mine.  As  to  the  back,  I  will  say  nothing 
about  it; but  surely,  M.  le  cure,  you  must  be  aware 
that  no  woman  in  the  world  ever  had  hair  enough  to 
make  such  a  monument  as  the  one  which  now  has  the 
honor  to  present  itself  to  your  gaze." 

As  she  uttered  the  words,  she  turned  so  as  to 
show  the  back  of  her  head,  with  a  gesture  of  mingled 
coquetry  and  artlessness  that  was  irresistibly  charm- 
ing. 

"  You  think  my  chignon  must  be  heavy,  because 
it  is  so  large,  but  it  is  only  putted— feel  it  yourself. 
Nothing  could  be  lighter  or  more  convenient.  It  is 
hung  on  the  foot  of  my  bed  at  night,  and  found  per- 
fectly uninjured  in  the  morning.  This  is  not  a  mere 
matter  of  vanity,  I  wear  it  for  comfort.  Tell  me, 
now,  my  good  M.  le  cure,  honestly,  didn't  you  know 
that  my  hair  was  dyed  ?  " 


AROUND  A  SPUING.  109 

"I?     Heaven  forbid!" 

"  What !  didn't  you  see  it  at  once  ?  It  is  no 
difficult  matter;  false  blondes  can  be  detected  with- 
out spectacles.  There  is  always  something  peculiar 
in  the  color  of  the  hair,  something  not  natural — and 
it  is  just  that  very  thing  which  gives  the  charm." 

Abbe  Roche  could  not  help  shuddering,  and  un- 
consciously cast  down  his  eyes.  He  felt  the  depths 
of  mingled  truth  and  sickly  sentimentality  contained 
in  the  last  remark,  which  seemed  to  have  a  special 
application  to  himself. 

"  But  I  am  chattering,  chattering.  Why  do  you 
allow  me  to  run  on  in  this  way  ?  Let  us  return  to 
our  poor  people,  for  I  came  here  expressly  to  talk 
about  them.  Dear  me !  how  beautiful  that  crucifix 
is  !  To  what  century  does  it  belong  ?  You  do  not 
know  ?  That  does  not  prevent  its  being  magnificent. 
If  I  have  a  passion,  it  is  for  relics ;  oh  !  how  I  search 
for  curiosities  !  I  go  without  eating  or  drinking  while 
in  pursuit  of  them.  You  don't  wish  to  dispose  of 
this  crucifix,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  No,  Madame,"  replied  the  cure,  "  certainly  not." 

"  Excuse  me ;  I  did  not  know  that  it  was  a  souv- 
enir ;"  arid  however  curious  she  might  be  to  hear 
more,  she  now  assumed  an  air  of  the  utmost  indiffer- 
ence. 

"  It  is  a  gift  that  I  received  long  ago,  and  still 
cherish,  although  I  never  knew  the  name  of  the  per- 
son who  sent  it  to  me." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  that  is  very  strange." 

"  It  is  the  very  singularity  that  makes  me  love  the 
crucifix.  I  received  it  in  the  evening  before  my  ordi- 
nation, twenty  years  ago,  and  have  never  been  sep- 
arated from  it  since  that  time.  The  memory  of  a 
friend  is  always  precious,  even  when  he  does  not 
make  himself  known." 

"  You  are  right.  Ah  !  it  is  a  most  exquisite  carv- 
ing," and  as  the  priest  seemed  determined  to  say 


110  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

nothing  more,  she  added  :  "  Well,  good-bye,  my  dear 
our6.  You  know  that  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart. 
I  confessed  it  the  other  day  before  all  the  company/' 

Abb6  Roche  tried  to  smile  at  this  jest,  but  strive 
as  he  would,  could  not  succeed.  The  gay  young  count- 
ess had  risen,  and  was  already  in  the  garden,  while 
the  sweeping  train  of  her  dress  still  tilled  the  door- 
way and  kept  the  priest  a  prisoner. 

"  So  you  are  not  accustomed  to  receive  such  de- 
clarations as  I  have  just  made  ?  It  seems  to  annoy 
you  ? — Will  you  allow  me  to  gather  a  little  rose-bud 
for  you  ?  My  husband  will  not  be  jealous  of  my 
affection.  No,  the  count  is  not  jealous — I  may  take 
this  rose  too,  may  I  not,  M.  le  cure  ?  " 

I  do  not  know  what  thought  passed  through  her 
mind,  but  she  blushed,  and  turning  towards  the  priest, 
said,  laughing  in  a  very  peculiar  manner,  "  I  love  my 
husband  too  much." 

She  had  pronounced  the  last  words  in  a  singular 
tone.  They  revealed  an  emotion  totally  at  variance 
with  the  rest  of  the  conversation. 

"  Farewell !  Monsieur  le  cure." 

"  Farewell !  Madame." 

With  her  customary  ease  of  manner,  she  held  out 
her  little  ungloved  hand  to  the  priest,  as  if  it  were 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  Perhaps  in  a 
Parisian  drawing-room  she  might  have  hesitated  to 
extend  it  to  her  cure;  but  Abb6  Roche  was  to  her 
simply  a  mountaineer,  a  plain  and  simple  man,  a 
stranger  to  the  customs  of  society,  ignorant  -of  the 
thousand  details  of  etiquette.  Yet  this  noble  savage 
had  the  bearing  of  a  gentleman,  and  then — and  then 
it  amused  her.  Supposing  that  the  priest  had  not  ob- 
served her  gesture,  she  extended  her  hand  still  farther, 
so  that  he  was  forced  either  to  accept  or  refuse  it 
decidedly. 

How  many  varied  feelings  can  pass  through  a 
man's  brain  in  one  or  two  seconds !  He  wished  to 


AROUND  A  SPRINU.  Ill 

appear  as  if  he  did  not  see  the  motion,  and  trembled 
like  a  child  at  the  trifling  familiarity  which  could  have 
no  other  meaning  than  mere  civility.  At  last  it 
seemed  to  him  cowardly  to  hesitate  longer,  and  he 
iirmly  took  in  his  large  hand  the  little  rosy,  half- 
closed  one  that  was  still  outstretched  like  a  mendi- 
cant's. 

He  felt  the  gentle  warmth  of  the  soft,  satin-smooth 
skin  pervade  his  whole  frame.  He  dared  not  press 
it,  and  his  own  inaction  rendered  the  light  clasp  of 
the  girlish  hand  so  strangely  charming,  doubly  allur- 
ing. At  that  moment  the  breakfast-bell  at  the  chateau 
was  heard  in  the  distance.  The  countess  turned  to 
raise  the  sweeping  folds  of  her  long  dress,  and  hastily 
crossed  the  little  square.  Abb6  Roche  re-entered  his 
room,  closed  the  door,  and  watched  her  through  his 
narrow  window-panes. 

"  Poor  woman  !  "  said  he.  "  Does  God  command 
me  to  watch  over  her,  or  never  to  see  her  again ! " 

She  had  disappeared.  The  cur6  turned  towards 
the  crucifix  hanging  on  the  wall,  and  drawing  up  a 
straw  chair,  knelt  before  it.  His  prayer  must  have 
been  a  fervent  one,  for  when  he  rose,  it  was  with  a 
colorless  face,  tearful  eyes,  and  trembling  hands. 


XIV. 

Two  or  three  days  after  the  events  related  in  the 
preceding  chapter,  the  cure  of  Grand  Fort  was  re- 
turning from  pere  Loursiere's  hut,  after  a  long  conver- 
sation with  his  daughter,  and  had  entered  the  path 
leading  to  the  village,  when  he  perceived  through  the 
trees  Claudius  standing  upon  the  threshold  of  a  cot- 
tage. Undoubtedly  the  priest,  who  was  walking  on 
with  hasty  strides,  had  been  heard,  for  the  gallant  vis- 
count called  gayly  : 

"  Is  it  you,  my  dear  M.  le  cure  !  what  a  piece  of 


112  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

good-luck  to  meet  you  here  !  You  are  a  great  stran- 
ger ;  you  never  come  to  the  castle  now,  and  are  not 
to  be  found  anywhere.  I  have  jnst  been  to  your 
house.  Let  us  go  back  to  the  village  together,  if 
agreeable  to  you." 

Then  turning  to  the  two  women  Anth  whom  he 
had  been  talking,  he  added :  "  Good-bye,  my  friends, 
till  we  meet  again  one  of  these  days.  You  do  not 
regret  it,  I  hope  ?  Don't  forget  what  I  told  you  ;  all 
the  plates  and  dishes  you  find,  which  have  on  the 
bottom  a  figure,  a  sketch,  no  matter  what,  I  will  buy 
of  you — I  like  the  oldest  best.  Does  that  make  you 
laugh  ?  Well,  good-bye  !  I  shall  soon  come  this  way 
again." 

And  he  took  the  curb's  arm  without  farther  cere- 
mony. 

"  You  are  surprised,  are  you  not,  to  see  me  collect- 
ing these  old  bits  of  china.  I  am  a  lover  of  antiques, 
and  am  gathering  the  relics  of  the  past ;  the  china  of 
the  last  century,  in  particular,  is  extremely  interesting 
to  me.  All  these  things  have  no  real  value,  and  I  am 
perhaps  rather  foolish ;  but  what  does  it  matter,  since 
it  amuses  me.  Every  one  takes  his  pleasure  where 
he—" 

"  Certainly,  Monsieur." 

"  It  is  a  very  innocent  mania,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  One  that  injures  no  one." 

And  as  Abbe  Roche,  somewhat  embarrassed  by 
the  young  man's  arm,  whose  light  pressure  he  felt 
upon  his  own,  looked  at  the  glittering  object  Claudius 
held  in  his  hand,  the  latter  remarked  :  "  You  do  not 
suspect  what  this  is,  I  am  sure.  It's  an  old  silver-gilt 
cross,  which  yonder  good  woman  has  just  given  me. 
Oh  !  I  arranged  matters  capitally,  gave  them  enough 
to  buy  two  others,  perfectly  new,  and  much  more 
fashionable  than  this,  which  is  as  old  as  the  poles, 
worn  out,  defaced,  tarnished.  I  had  some  difficulty  in 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  113 

ootaining  it,  however.  I  should  not  care  for  it,  other- 
wise, but  I  have  my  mania.  Ha !  ha  !  ha !  " 

"  And  what  do  you  want  to  do  with  it  ?  Why 
did  you  tempt  the  woman  ?  On  our  mountains,  these 
crosses  are  heir-looms,  transmitted  from  one  genera- 
tion to  another.  She  did  wrong  to  give  it  up,  it  was 
a  wicked  action." 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  the  priest  withdrew 
his  arm  so  decidedly  that  Claudius  dared  not  take  it 
again. 

"  Come,  Monsieur  le  cure",  be  indulgent :  all  wo- 
men are  a  little  coquettish,  whether  they  live  on  the 
mountains  or  in  the  valleys.  Now  this  one  wants  to 
be  in  the  fashion.  Dear  me,  isn't  that  perfectly  natu- 
ral !  Tastes  and  ideas  change,  traditions  fade,  and 
are  replaced  by  others.  It  is  very  true  that  all  social 
transformations  have  their  inconveniences,  which  are 
very  great  when  viewed  separately,  but  disappear  if 
considered  as  a  whole." 

"  I  do  not  understand  what  connection  there  is  be- 
tween this  woman's  cross  and  social  transformations." 

"  Ah !  my  dear  Monsieur  le  cure,  we  are  alone  to- 
gether. Don't  deny  what  is  undeniable.  You  belong 
to  an  extremely  powerful  political  party,  I  grant, 
but—" 

"  I  ?  I  belong  to  a  political  party  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  reproach  you; 'you  are  defending  a 
great  and  beautiful  cause,  I  am  first  to  recognize  it ; 
only,  instead  of  denying  modern  progress,  and  op- 
posing the  necessary  transformation  which  ideas 
and  tastes  undergo,  imitate  the  sensible  and  liberal 
portion  of  the  French  clergy,  who  openly  accept 
these  new  tendencies  and  take  the  lead  of  the  move- 
ment in  order  to  control  it.  Does  not  this  indicate 
great  intelligence  ?  Excuse  my  speaking  to  you  so 
frankly,  but  M.  Larreau,  who,  be  it  said,  has  great  ex- 
perience in  men,  esteems  you  very  highly,  and  I  share 
his  opinion,  M.  le  cure.  He  has  spoken  to  me  about 


114  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

the  clearness  of  your  views,  the  intelligence  and 
breadth  of  yonr  ideas.  In  short,  you  have  completely 
won  his  heart." 

"  But  I  never  said  more  than  two  or  three  consec- 
utive words  to  him." 

"  One  would  have  been  sufficient;  a  man's  intelli- 
gence can  be  determined  by  a  single  word.  Now,  as 
you  so  justly  remarked,  we  are  in  a  period  of  social 
transformation." 

"  I  said  no  such  thing,  quite  the  contrary." 

"  We  mutually  agreed,  I  meant  to  say,  that  society 
was  undergoing  a  change ;  but  what  is  there  alarming, 
I  ask  you,  in  these  ideas  of  liberty,  well-being,  free 
intercourse,  equality  ?  The  humble  in  station  now 
desire  to  gain  a  footing  in  the  world  ;  ambition,  ardor, 
a  thirst  for  improvement,  are  spreading,  filtering, 
penetrating.  Dare  you  conscientiously  affirm  that 
these  things  are  not  beneficial !  " 

"  I  should  like  to  believe  that  things  are  as  you 
say.  It  seems  to  me  that  all  depends  upon  the  means 
employed  to  attain  this  object,  which — " 

"  This  object,  Avhy,  it  is  the  Christian  aim  !  Let 
us  look  at  these  things  from  a  broad  stand-point, 
without  any  private  jealousies  or  the  petty  mean- 
nesses with  which  all  political  parties  are  infected. 
What  is  the  actual  democratic  movement  ?  It  is 
Christianity,  which,  too  long  suffocated  by  the  sombre 
and  violent  Catholicism  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  the 
pompous  and  aristocratic  forms  of  the  succeeding 
centuries,  comes  forth  from  silence  and  oblivion  to 
unfold  its  holy  wings  which  will  overshadow  the 
world.  It  is  the  continuation  and  completion  of 
Christ's  woi'k.  I  should  not  speak  in  this  way  to 
every  one,  but  these  are  my  real  thoughts.  Let  priv- 
ileged classes  disappear ;  let  the  differences  of  caste 
crumble  and  fall  to  dust;  let  all  men  approach  and 
look  into  each  other's  faces  without  distrust ;  let  con- 
straint and  servitude  be  replaced  by  the  free  range 


AEOUND  A  SPRING.  115 

of  human  faculties,  and  I  shall  indeed  thank  Heaven. 
Riches  and  noble  birth  have  too  long  obtained  all 
privileges.  Make  way  for  labor  and  intellect !  These 
few  words  describe  modern  progress,  and  may  I  be 
hung  if  it  does  not  contain  the  very  essence  of  Chris- 
tianity ! " 

"  All  that  you  have  just  said  is  beautiful,  Monsieur, 
truly  beautiful,"  said  the  abb6,  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  le  cure,  I  repeat  it,  make  way  for 
intelligence  and  individual  capacity  !  " 

"  And  honesty,  you  should  add." 

"  Wherefore  ?  Rest  assured  that  sensible  people 
have  too  good  an  understanding  not  to  be  honest. 
They  would  remodel  the  laws  rather  than  not  be  in 
harmony  with  them." 

While  engaged  in  this  conversation,  they  had 
come  in  sight  of  the  cure's  house,  whose  green  shut- 
ters and  red  roof  appeared  round  a  turn  in  the  road. 

"  My  dear  M.  le  cur6,"  said  Claudius,  "  is  there 
any  objection  to  my  visiting  your  church  ?  " 

"  None  whatever,  God's  house  is  open  to  all." 

"  To  my  great  regret,  I  have  been  absent  at  mass 
for  two  successive  Sundays,  and  therefore  know  noth- 
ing of  your  temple  except  the  outside,  which  seems 
to  be  rather  plain." 

"  The  interior  is  not  much  more  elegant ;  but  the 
Lord  is  satisfied  with  it.  You  shall  judge  for  your- 
self." 

They  crossed  the  square,  and  turned  towards  the 
porch. 

"  It  would  be  so  easy  for  you  to  obtain  funds  to 
restore  this  edifice,"  said  Claudius.  "  You  would  be 
assisted  with  the  greatest  alacrity,  M.  le  cure\  but," 
he  added,  smiling,  "  if  you  wish  to  do  anything  for 
your  church,  you  must  bestir  youi'self  a  little,  draw 
up  a  petition  and  obtain  subscribers,  organize  a  lot- 
tery, devise  something.  That  is  what  all  cures  do 
under  similar  circumstances." 


HG  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

"  I  have  very  little  taste  for  such  things.  Others 
undoubtedly  have  excellent  reasons  for  their  actions, 
but—" 

"  The  count  would  devote  himself  to  the  matter  ; 
M.  Larreau,  too,  would  make  great  efforts.  Follow 
my  advice,  and  take  advantage  of  the  opportunity  !  " 
Abb6  Roche  turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  and  pushed 
the  little  worm-eaten  door,  saying,  "  Enter,  if  you 
please." 

Claudius  hastily  put  on  his  eye-glasses  and  looked 
around  him.  Doubtless  the  somewhat  desolate  as- 
pect of  the  humble  church,  with  the  beams  of  its  roof 
blackened  by  time,  covered  with  spiders'  webs,  and 
strewn  with  swallows'  nests,  did  not  inspire  him  with 
very  profound  reverence ;  for  he  continued  to  speak 
in  the  same  loud  tone: 

"  You  are  not  rich,  Monsieur  le  cure",  not  rich, 
not  rich  ! " 

And  he  looked  around,  above  and  below,  like  an 
auctioneer  taking  an  inventory,  while  tapping  lightly 
on  the  holy- water  basin,  the  ancient  benches,  and  the 
baptismal  font. 

On  -passing  a  dark  corner  near  the  confessional, 
where  all  sorts  of  rubbish,  old  candlesticks,  old  lad- 
ders, and  old  ropes  used  by  the  slaters  in  repairing  the 
belfry,  were  thrown,  Claudius  suddenly  stopped,  and 
standing  on  tip-toe,  drew  out  a  fragment  of  carved 
wood,  covered  with  a  thick  layer  of  dust  and  dirt. 
Removing  his  glove,  he  breathed  upon  it,  wiped  it, 
scraped  it  with  his  nail,  and  thus  laid  bare  a  little 
corner,  which  he  examined  with  the  utmost  care. 

The  fragment  represented  a  naked  limb,  half  con- 
cealed by  flowing  drapery.  The  viscount  mounted 
upon  a  stool  that  chanced  to  be  near,  and  discovered 
four  or  five  more  pieces,  rendered  absolutely  shape- 
less by  the  immense  quantity  of  dirt  that  covered 
them.  After  examining  the  bits,  which  appeared  to 
fit  into  each  other,  and  form  a  perfect  whole,  he  ex- 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  117 

claimed  :  "  Phew !  my  dear  Monsieur  le  cure,  your 
church  is  certainly  by  no  means  wealthy." 
"  It  is  very  well  suited  to  our  wants." 
"  You  have  no  china,  no  old  dishes  !     I  am  always 
interested  in  my  mania,  you  know." 

Walking  up  the  nave,  he  passed  before  the  high 

altar  with  a  careless  bow,  and  began  to  rummage  be- 
,  .    -.  .  ° 

land  it. 

"  Why,  your  vases  are  absurd,  and  your  candle- 
sticks frightful.  Your  painted  windows — no  win- 
dows !  You  don't  happen  to  have  any  lace,  old  bits 
of  lace  ? " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  lace  ?  " 

"  It  would  take  too  long  to  explain.  Have  you 
any  curtains — old  curtains,  or  altar  cloths  ? — Your 
Sunday  robe,  what  is  that  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  more  becoming  to  leave  the 
church  before  talking  about  such  matters." 

"  You  are  right ;  besides,  I  have  seen  everything." 

Then  with  the  utmost  frankness  and  cordiality,  he 
continued : 

"  Will  you  permit  me  to  give  your  church  a  little 
present,  M.  le  cur6  V  A  bas-relief,  for  instance,  to 
make  the  utter  nakedness  of  the  walls  striking.  I 
don't  see  why  the  Lord's  house  should  not  be  orna- 
mented, and  agreeable  to  the  eyes,  and  besides,  the 
sight  of  works  of  art  is  a  help  to  moral  education.  I 
am  going  directly  back  to  Paris,  and  will  send  you 
one  of  the  religious  carvings  which  are  executed  there 
with  so  much  skill.  They  are  neither,  too  rude  nor 
too  elaborate;  it  will  be  just  the  thing,  and  can  be 
kept  in  order  very  easily.  All  that  is  required  is  a 
dusting  with  a  feather-brush  every  Sunday  morning." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Monsieur.  I  thank  you,  but 
really  I  do  not  know  whether  I  ought — " 

"  Accept  it  in  the  name  of  your  parishioners — you 
will  really  afford  me  great  pleasure;  besides,  if  the 
weight  of  gratitude —  Well,  I'll  tell  you,  let  us  make 


118  AROUND  A   HPRING. 

an  exchange,,  gift  for  gift.  And,"  he  added,  laughing 
good-naturedly,  "give  me  the  broken  statue  I  left 
on  the  bench — I  can  propose  nothing  better." 

"  I  understand  the  delicacy  of  your  suggestion, 
Monsieur,  and,  although  I  should  have  no  right  to 
dispose  of  anything  that  belonged  to  the  church — " 

"  Oh !  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons,  M.  le  cure,  I  only 
asked  for  those  shapeless  fragments  to — " 

"  Take  them,  then,  if  they  can  afford  you  any  pleas- 
ure. The  rubbish  has  no  sort  of  value ;  it  should 
have  been  thrown  away  long  ago;  I  do  not  under- 
stand why  it  still  remains  here." 

"  I  accept  them  with  thanks.  Ha !  ha !  ha  !  Peo- 
ple will  laugh  at  me,  but  I  can't  help  it,  I  always  ad- 
mire such  odd  trash." 

So  saying,  he  put  two  or  three  pieces  into  his 
pocket,  wrapped  the  others  in  his  handkerchief,  and 
moved  towards  the  door. 

"  Oh  !  I  was  forgetting  to  take  the  measure.  The 
best  place  for  the  carving  would  be  yonder,  opposite 
to  the  pulpit,  between  those  two  pillars,  wouldn't  it  ? 
The  space  is  rather  more  than  two  yards." 

"  Then  you  are  determined  to  send  it  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  deprive  myself  of  a  pleasure  ? 
Farewell !  my  dear  cureV' 

"  Farewell !  Monsieur." 

"  We  ought  not  to  judge  people  hastily,"  thought 
Abb6  Roche  when  he  found  himself  alone.  "  Yet 
that  is  a  man  of  whom  I  had  no  pleasant  impression." 


XV. 

In  the  meantime  the  capitalist,  Larreau,  was  not 
idle,  but  always  moving  about,  busily  occupied,  dress- 
ed in  his  gray  hat  and  huge  white  waistcoat,  which 
might  be  perceived  at  a  long  distance.  He  traversed 
the  mountains  on  foot,  unceremoniously  entering  all 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  119 

the  cottages,  caressing  the  children,  smiling  at  the 
women,  and  familiarly  tapping  the  shoulders  of  the 
men,  who  were  completely  fascinated  by  his  glitter- 
ing ornaments,  affable  manners,  and  immense  wealth 
which  the  whole  country  knew  he  possessed.  Be- 
sides, M.  Larreau  had  all  the  qualities  necessary  to 
please  :  he  was  tall,  stout,  florid,  smiling,  well  shaven, 
and  at  first  sight  seemed  like  a  father  coming  to  cc  n- 
sole  his  children.  In  the  eyes  of  the  peasants,  his  size 
and  assurance  made  him  appear  like  a  true  lord  of 
Manteigney,  much  to  the  disadvantage  of  his  son-in- 
law,  whose  contemptuous  bearing,  narrow  chest, 
sloping  shoulders,  and  bow-legs  inspired  very  little 
regard. 

"  Well,  my  friends,"  the  capitalist  would  say,  as 
he  entered  without  knocking,  "  are  you  happy  ?  Do 
you  want  any  thing  ?  Is  that  child  yours  V  What  a 
handsome  boy  !  Do  you  eat  meat,  do  you  drink 
wine  ? " 

"  No,  Monsieur,  not  always." 

"  You  do  wrong.  I  wish  you  to  eat  meat  and 
drink  wine  every  day;  you  understand  me,  I  wish 
you  to  do  it — "  And  as  the  mountaineers  smiled,  he 
continued :  "  Come  and  work  in  the  valley,  you  will 
earn  two  francs  a  day,  and  your  tools  shall  be  furnish- 
ed. If  you  want  your  first  week's  wages  paid  in  ad- 
vance, you  have  only  to  say  so." 

Then  with  truly  paternal  interest  he  would  enter 
into  all  the  particulars  of  their  mode  of  life,  taste 
their  bread,  interest  himself  in  the  old  mountain  le- 
gends, listen  to  them  with  the  greatest  attention,  and 
when  the  devil  began  to  play  his  inevitable  part  in 
the  tale,  say,  in  the  low  tone  of  a  man  by  no  means 
perfectly  at  ease  :  "  We  must  not  be  too  hasty  in  be- 
lieving all  this — it  won't  do  to  be  too  hasty — and  yet 
it  is  certain  that  bad  spirits  can  appear — in  solitary 
places,  for  instance,  at  twilight,  or  during  the  night 
when  the  Avind  blows — "  He  shuddered  slightly  to 


120  AROUND  A  SPEING. 

set  a  good  example. — "  M.  le  cure  has  doubtless  ex- 
plained all  this  to  you  ? " 

"  Oh !  M.  le  cur6  never  speaks  of  ghosts  or  evil 
spirits,  never." 

"  Indeed  !  Well,  good-bye,  my  children.  It  is 
strange  that  Abbe  Roche  neglects  all  this,  thought 
M.  Larreau;"what  a  singular  cure  he  is!" 

The  capitalist's  efforts  were  quickly  crowned  with 
success.  One  after  another  the  reports  of  his  liber- 
ality had  spread  abroad,  and  the  mountaineers  arrived 
every  morning  in  little  parties  of  two  and  three,  car- 
rying over  their  shoulders,  on  the  end  of  a  short  stick, 
the  traditional  earthen  pipkin,  surrounded  with  bands 
of  tin,  which  contained  their  food.  What  were  the 
important  works  that  had  been  commenced  in  the 
valley  ?  No  one  could  have  told,  the  countess's  lather 
having  the  entire  management  of  them  and  being  by 
no  means  communicative.  To  the  curious  he  always 
replied  :  "  I  am  making  improvements,  I  am  making 
improvements."  In  truth,  he  was  making  great  im- 
provements. 

Besides  building  a  smooth  and  beautiful  road, 
leading  from  the  valley  up  to  the  chateau,  and  thence 
to  Grand  Fort,  he  had  widened  the  one  to  Virez,  and 
commenced  a  third,  which,  turning  away  from  the 
valley  about  one  and  a  half  leagues  from  Manteigney, 
wound  through  the  forest.  These  were  important 
works,  but  this  was  not  all !  he  was  making  immense 
terraces  in  the  part  of  the  valley  nearest  to  the 
chateau.  Perhaps  he  wished  to  convert  the  spot  into 
a  park.  The  mountaineers  saw  M.  Larreau  spread- 
ing rolls  of  paper  upon  the  grass,  while  others,  stran- 
gers in  that  region,  looked  through  little  bottles  fixed 
at  the  extremity  of  a  sort  of  broom-stick,  supported 
by  three  long  legs.  After  gazing  into  the  bottles  with 
the  greatest  attention,  and  making  incomprehensible 
gestures  with  their  arms,  they  seized  long  chains,  and 
dragged  them  about  everywhere.  Here  they  hollow- 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  121 

ed  the  ground,  yonder  piled  up  the  earth,  and  farther 
on  cut  the  rock,  and  carried  the  fragments  three  hun- 
dred feet  to  the  right,  where  narrow  trenches,  regu- 
larly dug,  resembled  the  foundations  of  some  edifice. 
It  would  be  a  difficult  matter  to  enumerate  all  the 
singular  and  contradictory  rumors  to  which  these 
works  gave  rise.  Besides,  you  would  probably  pre- 
fer to  know  at  once  what  M.  Larreau  himself  intend- 
ed. I  will  tell  you,  in  confidence. 

This  clever  man,  as  you  perhaps  may  have  guess- 
ed, wished  to  create  in  the  valley,  close  by  the  chateau, 
a  fashionable  resort  for  pleasure-seekers,  and  was  pre- 
paring the  land,  so  that  the  buildings  could  be  erected 
at  any  moment.  The  creation  of  new  roads  was  a 
necessary  consequence  of  this  plan.  The  means  he 
Avas  to  employ  to  attract  wealthy  idlers  to  this  de- 
lightful spot  were  of  two  kinds.  He  relied  upon  the 
splendid  stud  of  horses  he  intended  to  bring  down, 
and  the  race-courses  to  be  laid  out !  but  above  all, 
and  this  was  his  secret,  on  a  still  more  powerful  charm, 
with  which  the  little  ditches,  so  regularly  dug,  have  a 
certain  connection. 

On  the  first  arrival,  M.  Larreau  had  noticed  in  a  - 
part  of  the  valley  just  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains,  a 
certain  spot,  filled  with  brambles,  where  the  earth 
was  remarkably  moist,  and  seemed  to  have  a  singular 
color.  At  first,  he  attached  no  special  importance  to 
this  peculiarity ;  then,  being  naturally  inquisitive,  ob- 
stinate and  curious,  had  thought  of  it  again,  returned 
to  the  place,  examined  the  soil  more  closely,  and  fan- 
cied he  perceived  a  penetrating,  nauseous  odor,  some- 
M  hat  difficult  to  define.  The  dampness  was  no  great 
source  of  surprise ;  such  things  are  not  at  all  uncom- 
mon in  mountainous  regions,  where  springs  sink  into 
the  earth;  but  the  odor,  which  became  more  and 
more  perceptible,  puzzled  him  extremely.  One  day, 
urged  on  by  some  unaccountable  impulse,  he  attempt- 
ed to  clamber  down  the  rugged  cliffs  that  overlooked 


122  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

the  spot.  Unfortunately,  it  was  a  chaos  of  almost  in 
accessible  rocks,  a  wilderness  of  roots  and  brambles, 
through  which  even  the  goats  could  not  penetrate. 
Larreau  devoted  himself  to  the  task  with  great  per- 
severance, became  interested  in  it,  and  at  last,  after 
toiling  for  several  days,  peering  into  every  fissure, 
lifting  the  mosses,  examining  the  stones,  and  search- 
ing among  the  roots,  found  other  damp  places  of  the 
same  color  and  odor  as  the  former  one. 

From  that  moment  he  was  convinced  that  he  had 
discovered  a  mineral  spring,  but  kept  the  secret  care- 
fully concealed.  He  was  just  the  man  for  great  en- 
terprises, and  adroitly  managed  industrial  schemes, 
and  began  to  devote  all  his  energies  to  the  completion 
of  the  plan.  By  means  of  scraping  and  digging,  he 
succeeded  in  collecting  a  sufficient  quantity  of  the 
water  to  enable  him  to  analyze  it,  having  acquired, 
while  in  his  old  trade  of  amelter  of  metals,  some  little 
chemical  knowledge  which  he  thought  he  might  turn 
to  account.  He  sent  for  certain  books  and  the  neces- 
sary articles,  and  soon,  though  without  a  thorough  in- 
vestigation, convinced  himself  that  the  spring  con- 
tained a  valuable  compound  of  sulphur,  iron,  and  ar- 
senic. It  was  necessary  to  have  a  perfect  analysis, 
which  only  a  chemist  could  perform  ;  and  also  to  as- 
certain the  quantity  of  water  in  the  spring,  now  buried 
under  the  earth.  Whatever  the  result  might  be,  he 
knew  how  to  restrain  his  curiosity,  not  wishing  to  at- 
tempt any  excavations  until  his  own  experiments  were 
tested  by  the  labor  of  some  Parisian  chemist,  and  as 
he  could  not  conduct  the  business  by  letter,  since  he 
desired  to  keep  it  a  secret  as  long  as  possible,  waited 
patiently  until  he  could  go  to  Paris  himself. 

Nevertheless,  this  prospect  of  finding  mineral 
springs  instinctively  led  him  to  make  some  slight 
changes  in  the  work  going  on  in  the  valley.  Not  far 
from  the  moist  spot  he  ordered  foundations  to  be 
dug,  for,  said  he  to  himself,  "  one  of  two  things  is 


AEOUND  A  SPRING.  123 

very  certain,  either  my  spring  is  abundant  and  medi- 
cinal, or  it  is  not.  In  the  former  case,  I  will  at  once 
put  up  a  building  here,  that,  when  the  time  comes, 
will  be  sufficient  for  the  first  demands  upon  it.  If  the 
other  alternative  should  prove  correct,  and  I  am  de- 
ceived in  my  expectations,  I  can  transform  the  em- 
bryo bath-house  into  a  hospital,  which  will  make  me 
highly  esteemed  throughout  the  country,  or  convert 
it  into  stables,  which  will  be  so  much  done  towards 
the  accommodation  of  the  race-horses."  This  is  the 
plan  that  had  been  floating  in  the  capitalist's  brain 
ever  since  his  arrival  at  Manteigney. 

It  chanced  one  evening  that  one  of  the  laborers, 
having  forgotten  his  jacket,  went  back  to  the  valley 
to  get  it,  and  saw  M.  Larreau  going  towards  the  cas- 
tle. It  was  very  strange  that  the  countess's  father 
should  be  out  walking  by  starlight.  The  workman 
hid  behind  a  pile  of  Avheelbarrows  and  waited  for 
him  to  pass.  The  capitalist  walked  on,  carrying  two 
large  bottles,  which  must  certainly  contain  some 
precious  liquid,  for  he  clasped  them  in  both  arms  as 
carefully  as  a  nurse  would  hold  a  new-born  infant. 
The  mountaineer,  who  was  terribly  frightened,  soon 
took  it  into  his  head  that  the  meeting,  though  perfect- 
ly natural,  was  a  very  wonderful  adventure.  M.  Lar- 
reau walked  about  after  dark,  mysteriously,  carrying 
in  his  arms  huge  bundles,  which  must  contain  treas- 
ure :  why  should  a  man  so  enormously  rich  trouble 
himself  except  to  go  in  search  of  wealth  ? 

The  tale  circulated  over  the  mountain,  and  soon 
acquired  a  tinge  of  the  supernatural.  People  won- 
dered in  suppressed  tones  whether  this  astonishing 
personage,  who  had  already  transformed  the  chateau 
as  if  by  the  stroke  of  a  magician's  wand,  and  was 
throwing  the  whole  valley  into  confusion  without 
any  apparent  motive,  might  not  be  a  sorcerer.  Strange 
as  it  may  seem,  the  absurd  rumor  only  increased  the 
capitalist's  influence,  and  even  attracted  fresh  work- 


124  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

men,  for  people  said  to  themselves  : — "  If  it  is  profit- 
able to  be  in  favor  with  God,  who  is  not  wicked,  per- 
haps it  is  still  better  to  keep  on  good  terms  with  the 
devil,  whom  everybody  knows  to  be  extremely  ma- 
licious." 

To  understand  the  singular  medley  in  the  brains 
of  the  inhabitants  of  the  mountain,  it  would  be  neces- 
sary to  live  for  a  short  time  in  some  secluded  corner 
of  that  region.  The  paradise  and  hell  of  the  Christian, 
the  tales  of  Perrault,  and  Pagan  traditions,  transmit- 
ted in  some  unaccountable  manner,  form  the  strange 
mixture  on  which  they  sustain  their  insatiable  love 
of  the  marvellous.  There  are  fairies  keeping  guard 
in  the  heart  of  the  mountain  over  immense  treasures 
of  gold,  silver  and  precious  stones.  How  can  these 
simple  minds  help  becoming  excited  as  they  think  of 
all  this !  How  can  they  remain  calm  and  sensible, 
when  in  the  midst  of  the  dark,  mysterious  pine  forest, 
full  of  aromatic  odors,  where  the  wind  breathes  in  long 
sighs,  and  the  roots  creak  against  the  naked  rocks ! 
Amid  the  eternal  song  of  the  torrents  and  waterfalls, 
in  which  the  ear  can  distinguish  all  the  sounds  of 
nature,  they  fancy  in  their  most  solitary  hours  that 
they  can  hear  fairy  bells  tinkling  under  their  feet, 
bursts  of  elfish  laughter,  and  the  clinking  of  gold  and 
silver. 

The  mountain  shepherds  are  poor,  their  bread  is 
black,  and  their  garments  are  worn ;  this  bright 
dream  cheers  them.  Wealth  is  not  so  far  away  ! 
Who  knows  ?  an  ingot  of  gold  can  soon  leap  out  of 
the  earth  if  certain  people  choose,  and  everybody 
knows  that  the  elves  are  capricious.  The  mountain- 
eer worships  the  latter  class  of  beings,  because  he 
lives  in  their  company,  brushes  against  them  every 
moment,  imagines  he  sees  them  behind  yonder  rock, 
or  peering  out  of  the  depths  of  a  hollow.  To  sneer 
at  them  is  to  make  them  appear.  The  worthy  man 
loves  God,  also,  and  willingly  prays  to  Him ;  but  God 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  12.) 

is  much  farther  away,  up  above  in  the  broad  expanse 
of  the  firmament,  and,  after  sunset,  the  peasant  no 
longer  dares  to  look  at  the  distant  stars  for  fear  the 
dwarfs  who  live  under  the  earth  might  take  the  op- 
portunity to  pull  him  by  the  legs.  He  is  not  very 
near  the  Lord,  but  the  devil  and  his  imps  are  close  at 
hand. 

This  is  not  all ;  the  immense  mountains,  which  re- 
semble a  petrified  tempest ;  the  long  dark  fissures 
with  the  water  oozing  into  clefts,  where  the  sun 
never  enters;  the  motionless  cataclysm,  the  silent, 
eternal  nightmare,  have  a  violent,  fiendish  aspect,  that 
betokens  wrath  and  malediction.  Are  they  not  the 
traces  of  some  punishment  ?  God  is  not  in  this  in- 
fernal chaos.  It  is  the  devil  who  lives  here;  the 
devil,  chained  beneath  these  rocky  masses,  conquered, 
disarmed,  but  not  dead,  and  for  want  of  something 
better  to  do,  playing  tricks  upon  poor  trembling,  ter- 
rified human  beings.  Some  mystei'ious  being  reigns 
everywhere,  in  each  hollow,  each  gloomy  cavern. 
Men  shudder  lest  he  should  spring  out  upon  them ; 
and,  though  he  is  hid,  tremble  yet  more,  for  there 
must  be  some  evil  meaning  in  it ;  if  he  does  not  move 
now,  it  is  only  to  be  the  more  sure  of  his  hold  upon 
them.  Besides,  the  eyes  of  the  mountaineers,  when 
turned  away  from  these  fantastic  rocks,  see  only  vast 
horizons,  and  flickering,  uncertain  colors,  mingling  in 
inextricable  confusion.  There  is  nothing  certain, 
clear,  and  positive  in  this  wide  expanse;  the  other 
senses  cannot  sanction  the  vague  impressions  of  the 
eye,  and  undefined,  foolish  fancies,  which  soothe  the 
mind,  succeed  the  exciting  visions  that  have  intoxi- 
cated it.  M.  Larreau  had  instinctively  divined  all 
this,  and,  very  naturally,  sought  to  turn  it  to  his  own 
advantage. 

It  was  not  without  regret  that  Abb6  Roche,  who 
for  fifteen  years  had  been  struggling  against  the  su- 
perstitions of  his  parishioners,  and  seeking  to  win 


J26  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

their  confidence,  saw  the  capitalist's  influence  increas- 
ing throughout  the  country.  The  mountaineers  no 
longer  thought  of  anything  but  working  together  on 
the  estates  belonging  to  the  chateau,  and,  earning 
high  wages  with  very  little  trouble,  forgot  their  tiny 
fields  on  the  steep  slope,  which  were  so  difficult  to 
dig,  so  hard  to  till.  Almost  all  had  abandoned  their 
labor  in  the  forest,  healthful  though  it  was,  and  hav- 
ing once  gone  down  to  the  valley,  did  not  wish  to 
climb  the  hill-side  again.  The  little  pillage  inn  had 
lost  its  character  as  a  place  of  refreshment  for  the 
mountaineers,  a  sort  of  family  restaurant,  and  was 
now  a  mere  suburban  pot-house,  never  empty,  and 
resounding  with  noisy  songs  until  far  into  the  night. 
At  the  imperious  demands  of  the  castle  servants,  who 
possessed  great  influence  in  the  place,  the  inn-keeper 
had  sent  in  haste  for  absinthe,  although  hitherto  igno- 
rant of  its  very  name.  It  had  quickly  become  fash- 
ionable, and  pere  Sappey,  whom  we  met  staggering 
along  the  road  one  evening,  was  one  of  the  first  to 
fall  a  victim. 

Thanks  to  the  increased  facility  for  making  money, 
and  the  chance  of  having  some  in  the  pocket  all  the 
week,  the  inn  was  transformed  into  a  gambling  house, 
to  the  great  delight  of  the  count's  servants,  who 
being  more  skilful  than  the  others,  easily  made  very 
large  gains.  A  taste  for  drink,  as  Avell  as  play,  was 
developed,  and  the  honest  mountaineers,  who  for 
years  had  tilled  their  fields  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  and 
borne  their  burdens  over  the  burning  paths  without 
anything  to  quench  their  thirst,  except  the  pure  water 
of  the  streams,  now  declared  that  they  must  have 
wine,  beer  and  brandy  to  enable  them  to  work,  so 
that  it  became  necessary  to  put  up  a  refreshment 
room,  built  of  rough  planks,  in  the  valley.  None  of 
these  changes  escaped  Abb6  Roche's  attention,  but 
what  was  he  to  do  ! 

"  You  are  in  a  pretty  condition,  Francois,"  said  he 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  127 

one  day  as  he  met  one  of  his  parishioners  reeling 
along  the  road,  whistling  one  of  Offenbach's  contra- 
dances.  "  I  have  just  seen  your  wife ;  she  is  com- 
plaining of  you ;  you  did  not  give  her  your  week's 
wages." 

Francois  began  to  laugh. 

"  Oh  !  bless  me,  Monsieur  le  cure",  things  are  not 
now  as  they  used  to  be :  people  work  and  have  a 
good  time,  they  don't  wear  themselves  out  digging  in 
the  earth  to  get  a  handful  of  buckwheat.  We  have 
worked  hard  enough,  goodness  knows  !  " 

"  Poor  fellow,  are  you  any  the  richer  ?  You  no 
longer  attend  to  your  house,  your  hay  is  not  brought 
in;  how  will  you  feed  your  cow  this  winter?  And 
your  boys  are  wandering  about  like  vagabonds  !  " 

"  Pooh  !  there's  no  trouble  about  the  boys.  The 
count  wants  them  to  ride  his  horses,  they  will  be  lit- 
tle jockeys,  go  to  Paris,  be  lodged  and  fed  like  lords, 
wear  gold  lace  on  their  hats,  and  have  nothing  to  do." 

"  You  do  not  think  what  you  are  saying,  Francois. 
Come,  you  are  not  really  bad  at  heart,  you  love  your 
wife,  your  children,  your  home — " 

Francois,  with  a  drunkard's  complacency,  began 
to  laugh  again,  and  the  cur6  turned  sadly  away. 
Twenty  times  had  similar  conversations  taken  place ; 
but  whether  with  Peter  or  Paul,  Abb6  Roche  could 
gain  nothing  but  a  smile  and  a  bow. 

The  cure  found  himself  forced  to  struggle  inces- 
santly against  the  new  influences  which  were  gradual- 
ly overspreading  the  country.  Worst  of  all,  he  was 
especially  terrified  by  the  thought  that  he  himself, 
at  certain  times,  felt  their  power.  One  day  a  cart, 
drawn  by  two  oxen,  stopped  before  his  house.  It 
contained  two  tolerably  large  cases,  on  which  were 
the  words :  "  A.  la  Reine  des  deux,  fabrique  d'orne- 
ments  d'eglise  en  tout  genre — To  M.  le  cur6,of  Grand- 
Fort-le-Haut,  by  way  of  Virez,  etc." 

A  little  group  of  curious  persons  had  already  as- 


128  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

sembled  around  the  cases  when  Abb6  Roche  arrived. 
The  lids  were  removed  in  a  twinkling,  and  amidst  the 
hay  and  shreds  of  paper,  appeared  a  huge  bas-relief, 
which  elicited  a  general  cry  of  admiration.  It  was 
colored  with  wonderful  art,  and  represented  the 
"  Flight  into  Egypt."  The  faces  were  pink,  the  en- 
amelled eyes  of  the  figures  glittered  in  the  sun's  rays, 
and  the  Virgin's  garments,  of  an  exquisite  shade  of 
blue,  were  adorned  with  numerous  designs  in  gold 
and  silver.  The  whole  was  executed  with  a  skill  and 
patience  worthy  of  the  Chinese.  Saint  Joseph,  who 
was  on  foot,  wore  plainer  clothing;  but  to  make 
amends,  his  beard  was  imitated  with  most  remark- 
able perfection.  It  was  really  as  natural  as  life.  I 
will  say  nothing  of  the  ass'  foal,  which  seemed  to  ask 
a  caress,  or  of  the  landscape,  whose  vast  extent 
touched  the  soul:  on  the  left  were  two  pink  pyra- 
mids— the  same  shade  as  the  faces,  unfortunately — 
and  on  the  right,  three  little  palm-trees  of  a  most  pe- 
culiar shade  of  green.  The  whole  was  as  light  as  a 
feather,  and  provided  with  two  strong  rings  at  the 
back. 

The  wheelwright,  who  had  brought  his  own  box 
of  tools  to  open  the  cases,  proposed  to  the  cur6  that 
the  precious  carving  should  be  put  in  its  place  at  once, 
and  the  worthy  man  set  to  work  with  so  much  indus- 
try that,  half  an  hour  later,  the  colored  bas-relief  was 
gleaming  in  the  simple  church  like  a  louis  d'or  amid 
a  quantity  of  sous.  The  second  box,  much  smaller 
than  the  first,  contained  a  small  lamp  of  gilded  cop- 
per, undoubtedly  intended  to  be  suspended  before 
the  "  flight  into  Egypt? 

It  might  be  supposed  that  Abbe  Roche  would 
have  been  greatly  delighted  with  these  works  of  art, 
which  had  already  excited  so  much  admiration,  but  it 
was  not  so.  The  brilliant  colors  saddened  him ;  they 
were  not  suited  to  the  spot  where  they  were  placed, 
The  gilding  reminded  him  of  the  drawing-room  at 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  129 

the  chateau.  It  seemed  as  if  the  House  of  God  was 
profaned  by  these  life-like  images,  formed  to  please 
the  eye,  and  he  was  offended  by  the  idea  that  divin- 
ity itself  was  intended  to  be  personified  in  the  pink 
cartoon  of  a  baby  adorned  with  enamel  eyes. 

This  was  not  all :  the  glittering  lamp,  the  dazzling 
bas-relief  made  the  old  church  he  loved  not  only  with 
the  reverence  of  the  pi'iest,  but  rather  the  affection 
a  man  feels  for  the  places  in  which  he  has  had  both 
joy  and  sufferings,  seem  still  more  desolate  and  dilap- 
idated. He  had  placed  a  part  of  his  heart  in  the  an- 
cient sanctuary,  and  when  he  entered  it,  the  memory 
of  all  the  emotions  he  had  experienced  rushed  forth 
to  meet  him,  and  surrounded  him  with  most  delight- 
ful recollections.  The  bas-relief  and  lamp  were  in- 
truders which  would  disturb  the  charm.  The  cure's 
regard  for  his  church  had  a  tinge  of  filial  tenderness, 
and  these  decorations  made  the  same  impression  upon 
him  that  would  be  experienced  if  a  person  suddenly 
saw  his  old  grandmother  painted  and  crowned  with 
flowers.  All  these  thoughts  were  in  his  mind,  when 
one  of  the  servants  from  the  chateau  entered  the 
church,  and  approaching  Abb6  Roche,  told  him  in  a 
low  tone  that  the  countess  desired  a  moment's  con- 
versation with  Monsieur  le  cure. 


XVL 

It  was  the  first  time  that  the  young  wife  had  so 
urgently  requested  the  cure's  presence,  and  he  went 
to  her  immediately.  Mme.  de  Manteigney,  who  was 
sitting  under  the  trees  at  one  end  of  the  terrace,  rose 
at  his  approach : 

"  Pardon  me,  if  I  have  disturbed  you,  my  dear  M. 
le  cure,  but  I  received  a  letter  from  our  friend  Clau- 
dius, this  morning,  in  which  he  tells  me  that  he  has 
sent  you  a  box  from  Paris." 
9 


133  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

"  It  arrived  this  very  day,  Madame,  and  I  thank 
him  a  thousand  times — " 

"  Ah !  bravo !  How  do  you  like — sit  down  a  mo- 
ment— how  do  you  like  the  lamp  ?  You  know  that 
I  presented  it  to  the  church." 

i  "  We  are  very  grateful,"  murmured  the  curS  in  an 
almost  stern  tone  of  voice.  The  thought  that  he 
should  have  the  countess's  gift  before  his  eyes  every 
day  was  painful  to  him. 

"  Listen  to  me,  dear  M.  le  cur6,  do  not  speak  in 
that  severe  tone,  I  implore  you.  I  am  in  trouble,  and 
wish  to  talk  with  you.  Indeed  you  must  show  me  a 
little  friendship,  or  at  least  pretend  to  do  so." 

"  I  have  never  deceived  any  one,  Madame,  and  I 
should  not  begin  with  you.  Speak  to  me  in  all  can- 
dor, and  if  my  counsels  can  aid  you,  rest  assured  that 
they  will  be  sincere." 

In  spite  of  himself  he  felt  a  most  delightful  emo- 
tion at  the  thought  that  she  was  about  to  make  him 
her  confidant,  perhaps  open  her  whole  heart  to  him, 
and  yet  he  struggled  against  the  sweet  sensation.  He 
dared  not  look  at  the  young  wife,  and  stood  drawing 
figures  on  the  sand  with  the  end  of  his  cane. 

"  The  better  I  know  you,  M.  le  cure,"  continued 
the  countess  with  an  expression  of  countenance  quite 
different  from  her  ordinary  one,  "  the  greater  is  the 
respect  and  confidence  with  which  your  character  in- 
spires me.  I  tell  you  things  very  frankly.  I  am  not 
in  the  mood  just  now  to  choose  my  phrases,  but  the 
strongest  proof  of  my  sincerity  is  that  I  appeal  to 
you  when  in  trouble." 

"  I  am  listening  to  you,  Madame." 

"  Well,  answer  me  frankly,  who  is  the  little  sav- 
age that  brings  goats'  cheese  here  much  oftener  than 
she  is  needed  ?  Her  name  is  Marie,  I  believe." 

The  priest  started.  He  suddenly  remembered 
the  evening  when  he  had  surprised  the  count  in  earn- 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  131 

est  conversation  with  Loursiere's  daughter,  and  an- 
swered with  an  embarrassed  manner: 

"  Good  Heavens,  Madame,  I  think  I  have  already 
told  you.  She  is  in  very  delicate  health,  and  lives 
with  her  father  on  the  borders  of  the  forest.  As  to 
Loursiere,  there  are  some  unpleasant  things  said 
about  him ;  but  we  must  not  believe  all  the  rumors 
which  are  in  circulation." 

"I  am  not  talking  about  the  father,  but  the 
daughter,"  interrupted  the  countess,  looking  the 
priest  steadily  in  the  face.  "  Do  you  know  her  ? — her 
conduct,  her  reputation  in  the  country  ?  Tell  me 
plainly,  you  see  that  I  am  deeply  interested  in  the 
matter." 

"  Why,  her  reputation —  Doubtless  you  have  been 
told — "  He  dared  not  go  on,  fearing  that  he  might 
inform  the  countess  of  something  of  which  she  was 
still  ignorant.  The  latter  becoming  more  and  more 
excited,  exclaimed,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "  I  am 
jealous  of  that  girl ;  there,  do  you  understand  now  ? 
The  .count  has  made  her  his  mistress ;  is  that  clear — 
is  that  plain  enough  ?  " 

She  had  uttered  these  words  very  passionately ; 
her  face  assumed  an  expression  of  actual  hatred,  her 
nostrils  quivered,  and  her  little  hands  twisted  her 
embroidered  handkerchief. 

"  Calm  yourself,  Madame,  I  entreat  you.  That  is 
a  very  grave  accusation  to  make ;  you  must  not  allow 
your  imagination — " 

"  Oh  !  none  of  those  common-place  phrases,  I  beg 
of  you;  no  well  turned  sentences,  no  trifling.  Should 
I  speak  to  you  on  such  a  subject  if  I  were  not  sure  ? 
And  stop,  I  can  read  in  your  eyes  that  you  are  as 
well  informed  about  the  matter  as  I.  You  cannot  tell 
me  a  lie ;  be  frank,  Monsieur  le  cure,  and  answer  yes 
or  no.  Were  you  ignorant  of  what  I  just  told  you  ?  " 

No  one  had  ever  appealed  to  his  truthfulness  in 
vain ;  he  turned  towards  the  countess  instantly,  but 


132  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

noticing  the  anxiety  expressed  in  her  eyes  and  the 
convulsive  quivering  of  her  lips,  stopped  without  re- 
plying. He  was  terrified,  and  felt  like  a  man  who, 
venturing  upon  a  volcano  for  the  first  time,  feels  the 
soles  of  his  boots  become  burning  hot.  He  also  ex- 
perienced,an  emotion  of  happiness,  pleasure,  and  sat- 
isfied pride.  The  feeling  shown  by  the  poor  wife 
ennobled  her  in  his  eyes.  He  had  not  been  mistaken  : 
a  passionate  woman's  heart,  capable  of  enthusiasm, 
anger  and  love  throbbed  La  the  breast  of  this  little 
coquettish,  prattling,  frivolous  countess — she  possessed 
soul,  mind  and  feeling. 

"Answer  me,"  she  said,  speaking  more  rapidly 
and  searching  his  face  with  her  anxious  eyes ;  "  answer. 
Did  you  know  all  this  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suspected  it." 

"  You  understand  that  the  affair  cannot  continue. 
It  must  be  ended  at  once.  That  is  why  I  wanted  to 
speak  to  you." 

Her  expression  suddenly  changed,  her  brow  con- 
tracted, the  corners  of  her  mouth  drooped,  and  -while 
two  large  tears  flowed  slowly  down  her  cheeks,  she 
continued  in  a  low,  soft  tone  :  "  You  think  me  very 
absurd,  do  you  not  ?  Isn't  it  ridiculous  to  permit  my- 
self to  be  so  deeply  moved  by  the  amusements  of  a  gen- 
tleman who  was  trying  to  kill  time  ?  you  cannot  un- 
derstand me  when  I  say  the  affair  must  end,  and  yet 
it  is  perfectly  true.  I  am  no  saint,  and  might  com- 
mit some  folly  in  my  wrath." 

"  I  see  plainly  that  you  are  suffering,  but  let  us 
try  "  (he  was  almost  as  much  agitated  as  the  coun- 
tess)— "  let  us  try  to  reason." 

"  Reason !  that  is  a  pleasant  proposition ;  have 
you  holy  water  in  your  veins  ?  People  suffer,  weep, 
want  to  dash  themselves  out  of  the  window,  and  you 
talk  about '  reasoning.'  Your  reasoning  is  very  much 
like  managing  a  balloon :  nothing  is  more  simple  if 
you  only  have  a  point  of  support.  The  point  of  sup- 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  133 

port  is  calmness,  absence  of  all  emotion.  You  do  not 
understand,  or  don't  you  wish  to  understand?  Did 
not  you  see  at  once  that  I  am  madly,  yes,  madly,  and 
I  am  ashamed  to  say  so,  madly  in  love  with  him  ?  I 
love  him  foolishly — degradingly." 

"  Whom  ?  " 

"  My  husband,  of  course  ! " 

If  Abbe  Roche  had  been  stabbed  in  the  back,  the 
sensation  would  not  have  been  more  painful.  Yet  he 
murmured,  clenching  his  heavy  cane :  "  It  is  nat- 
ural,— it  is  not  a"t  all  strange, — wives  must  love  their 
husbands." 

"  Yes,  but  the  reason  it  is  so  base  and  wretched  is, 
that  I  love  him  because  he  does  not  love  me." 

"  Good  Heavens  !  explain  yourself." 

"  Can  such  things  be  explained  ?  I  am  like  a 
gambler  Avho,  about  three  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
loses  his  self-control  and  risks  his  whole  fortune  to 
regain  a  hundred  louis.  I  want  to  win — don't  you 
understand  ?  Well,  to  make  myself  beloved,  I  use 
the  means  commonly  employed  by  the  society  in 
which  I  move.  Suppose  I  should  tell  you — you  will 
not  be  hurt  ?  Suppose  I  should  tell  you  that  I  tried 
to  flirt  with  you  to  make  him  jealous  ?  It  is  shame- 
ful, isn't  it  ?  I  dye  my  hair  as  if  I  were  going  to  a 
masquerade ;  I  talk  slang ;  I  bewilder  myself  with 
idiotic  prattle,  and  my  greatest  anxiety  is  to  make 
every  one  believe  that  all  this  is  perfectly  natural  to 
me.  I  pity  myself,  when  I  have  time ;  but  I  as- 
sure you  that  if  it  were  advisable  to  tattoo  my  face 
with  green  to-morrow,  or  put  curtain  rings  through 
my  nose,  I  would  do  it  at  once  to  attract  his  at> 
tention." 

"  No,  no,  it  cannot  be  so,"  said  the  priest,  wiping 
away  the  heavy  drops  of  perspiration  that  bedewed 
his  forehead.  "  No,  Madame,  you  are  mistaken,  you 
do  not  know  yourself  \  but  God  reads  the  depths  of 
your  heart." 


134  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  me.  He  reads  sad 
things." 

"  Do  not  say  so;  preserve  your  self-respect,  if  you 
wish  to  remain  worthy  of  love.  True  love  never  de- 
based any  one,  on  the  contrary,  it  .is  ennobling  and 
purifying,  like  everything  that  comes  from  God.  Are 
diamonds  to  be  judged  by  the  mire  that  surrounds 
them!  Purify  your  affection,  free  it  from  the  stains  that 
only  rest  upon  the  surface.  Oh,  God  !  I  know  that 
we  sometimes  despair,  believe  ourselves  accursed, 
that  all  around  us  is  blighted,  but  d'o  not  doubt  thej 
Lord ;  pray  to  Him,  cast  yourself  into  His  arms.  If 
you  know  how  He  calms  and  consoles  our  feelings — " 

"Then  you, too, have  been  unhappy?" 

"  Where  is  the  life,  however  humble,  that  has  not 
had  its  storms  and  tempests  ?  Perhaps  all  is  not  as 
dark  and  sad  as  you  believe.  If  you  love  your  hus- 
band so  devotedly,  he  must  have  qualities  which  un- 
consciously attract  you  in  spite  of  his  faults." 

"  If  he  had,  I  should  not  love  him  so  much,"  she 
replied  in  a  low  tone,  covering  her  face  with  her  hand. 
And  in  a  voiee  choked  with  tears,  she  added:  "  Do 
you  know  what  he  did  the  day  after  my  marriage  ? 
He  took  supper  with  three  grisettes,  after  losing  sixty 
thousand  francs  during  the  evening." 

"  Good  Heavens,  but  that  was  infamous  ! — Pardon 
me,  I  only  mean  that  the  count  is — is — a  scoundrel ; 
and  was  he  not  reproved,  slapped  in  the  face,  before 
them  all  ?  " 

"  Who  would  have  dared  to  do  it,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

"  I !  I  swear,  before  Heaven,  I  would,  had  I  been 
present.  Patience  has  its  limits,  and  anger  bursts 
forth  when  such  disgraceful  scenes  are  witnessed. 
Had  you  none  but  cowards  near  you  ? " 

"The  count  has  fought  ten  duels,  and  never  received 
a  scratch.     He  fears  no  one,  I  assure  you." 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  should  have  been  afraid  ? 
I  would  have  crushed  him  with  a  single  blow '."cried 


AROUND  A  SPUING.  135 

the  priest,  with  such  passion  that  the  countess  cast 
down  her  eyes;  then  suddenly  calming  himself,  he 
asked  :  "  And  you,  what  did  you  do  ? " 

"  Well !  I  found  that  he  was  a  very  distinguished 
nobleman,  and  could  not  at  once  resign  the  mode  of 
life  which  he  and  all  belonging  to  his  circle  have 
always  led.  For  the  first  time  I  fel-t  a  desire  to  at- 
tract him,  to  triumph  over  the  low-born  women  he 
knew,  a  longing  to  be  loA-ed.  And  as  he  had  not 
enough  to  pay  the  sixty  thousand  francs — for  my 
father  had  been  very  cautious — I  pawned  my  dia- 
monds, and  the  debt  was  discharged  before  noon." 

"  Indeed,  Madame,  and  you  think  that  he  will  be 
eternally  grateful  to  you  for  it  ?  " 

"  Dear,  good  cur6,  how  I  love  you !  He  will 
never  forgive  me  as  long  as  he  lives.  I  humiliated 
him,  and  I  ought  to  have  known  it.  Ah !  I  had  no 
chance  in  my  first  attempt !  The  count  cannot  con- 
sider me  as  his  equal ;  in  his  eye  I  am  nothing  but 
the  daughter  of  a  very  wealthy  and  influential  shop- 
keeper, whose  riches  and  power  only  make  his  low 
origin  the  more  distasteful.  Urged  on  by  necessity, 
ensnared  in  a  thousand  ways — could  he  reason  calm- 
ly— M.  de  Manteigney,  in  an  hour  that  he  now  regrets, 
bartered  his  name  for  a  fortune." 

"  You  speak  as  if  it  were  not  a  shameful  action  ! 
I  am  not  a  nobleman." 

"  Yet  sometimes  you  look  like  one." 

"  I  was  picked  up  in  some  out-of-the-way  corner, 
forgotten  and  unknown,  and  God  has  done  the  rest ; 
but  I  feel  wounded  by  what  you  say ;  it  is  not  just. 
I  feel,  I  am  sure,  such  disgrace  is  unknown  to  the 
French  nobility.  God  would  not  permit  such  things 
to  be.  The  action  you  mention  is  exceptional, 
unique, — yes,  unique.  It  is  horrible." 

"  Horrible  !  no  more  so  on  his  part  than  on  mine." 

'  You  are  mistaken,  you  do  not  judge  calmly. 
Let  us  say  no  more  about  it." 


136  AROCyD  A  SPEIl'G. 

••  Yes,  hut  I  want  to  talk  of  it.  The  bargain,  shame- 
ful as  it  seems  to  you.  because  you  live  far  away 
from  the  gay  world,  was  honestly  made  on  both  sides. 
I  was  sure — almost  sure — that  no  one  would  marry  me 
except  for  my  fortune ;  my  father  knew  that  he  was 
buying  a  title,  only  when  everything  is  signed,  the 
gentleman  finds  himself  face  to  lace  with  a  man  of 
business,  who  is  only  apparently  dazzled,  and  pre- 
serves the  superiority  of  the  rich  man  over  the  penni- 
less, the  protector  over  the  protected.  People  are  so 
stupid !  a  gentleman  cannot  forgive  such  a  thing.  I 
love  my  father  dearly,  but,  after  all,  he  grew  rich  by 
selling  spouts." 

-  Are  not  all  men  equal  before  the  Lord?" 

A-  he  uttered  these  words  the  priest's  countenance 
became  illumined  with  so  noble  and  pure  an  expres- 
sion that  the  young  wife  hesitated  an  instant  before 
replying. 

"  You  are  above  human  littleness.  M.  le  cure/'  she 
said  at  last ; Li  but  if  men  are  equal  before  God,  you  sure- 
ly know  that  it  is  not  so  in  the  eyes  of  society.  Ilave 
I  not  seen  even  at  the  convent,  especially,  the  daugh- 
ters of  the  nobles  treated  with  particular  attention, 
almost  reverence,  however  ugly,  poor  and  stupid  they 
might  be !  Do  I  not  see  wealthy  citizens  everywhere 
change  their  names  to  make  people  believe  that  they 
are  of  noble  birth ?  I  myself  trembled  like  a  leaf 
•when  papa  said  to  me,  k  Would  you  like  to  be  a 
counr 

A  noble  who  sells  his  name,r  murmured  the 
priest,  '•  who  gambles,  and  leads  a  life  of  dissipation, 
sinks  to  the  level  of  the  meanest,  and  then  his  title 
does  not  save  him,  but  degrades  him  the  more." 

••  All  that  is  very  well  in  theory.  Yes.  I  knew 
that  he  was  ruined,  a  gambler,  and  dissipated ;  I 
knew  that  he  had  wasted  his  life  in  every  way,  but 
what  of  that?  His  very  faults  attracted  me.  they 
were  so  different  from  those  of  the  persons  I 


ABOUND  A  SPRING.  137 

around  me.  Did  not  all  the  gentlemen  whom  I 
heard  quoted  as  elegant  men  lead  the  same  lives  as 
the  count  ?  Curiosity  becomes  excited,  the  impossi- 
ble tempts  with  its  charms;  we  say:  :  He  will  love 
me  all  the  same ! '  Economy,  prudence,  industry. 
foresight,  sobriety,  I  had  heard  those  words  from  my 
very  cradle,  and  have  always  noticed  that  the  people 
who  practise  these  precious  virtues  desire  nothing  so 
ardently  as  to  get  rid  of  them,  as  one  takes  off  a 
kitchen  apron  when  a  visitor  arrives.  During  my 
whole  childhood  I  saw  the  hoarding  up  of  sous,  and 
bruised  myself  against  the  piles  as  they  grew  higher 
and  closer.  The  idea  that  some  persons  threw  hand- 
fuls  of  louis  d'orinto  the  streets  pleased  me.  Do  you 
suppose  that  a  parvenu  could  have  such  carelessness 
of  the  morrow,  such  contempt  for  money,  could  pre- 
serve such  ease  of  manner  when  ruined,  look  fortune 
in  the  face  and  laugh  at  it  ?  I  think  such  things  are 
noble.  They  flow  in  the  blood,  and  are  not  to  be 
learned  or  acquired." 

Abbe  Roche  gazed  at  her  earnestly.  His  brain 
seemed  confused.  He  felt  that  the  poor  wife  was  be- 
wildered, incorrect  in  her  judgments,  and  misleading 
herself;  but  nevertheless,  there  was  an  indescribable 
audacity,  hardihood,  and  passion  in  her  error,  which 
found  an  echo  in  his  own  memories,  and  controlled 
him  by  its  charm.  The  countess  continued : 

••  1  told  you  that  my  husband  had  often  fought  a 
duel  for  some  girl  of  light  repute,  and  that  since  my 
marriage.  You  think  perhaps  that  I  was  indignant  ? 
I  suffered  because  I  feared  for  him  and  also  because 
it  was  a  proof  of  his  indifference  to  me,  but  in  my 
heart  I  loved  him  all  the  more.  You  are  surprised, 
but  it  is  the  truth.  I  was  proud  of  him.  At  night, 
after  I  had  retired,  and  was  left  alone,  I  devoured  the 
papers  which  related  his  pranks  in  ambiguous  lan- 
guage that  deceived  no  one.  My  feelings  overpow- 
ered me.  I  wept,  laughed  and  read  the  article 


138  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

twenty  times  over.  My  father  would  not  have  ex- 
posed his  life  for  a  frolic,  a  jest,  a  glance,  in  defiance 
of  all  gossip,  neither  would  any  of  my  relatives.  The 
more  frivolous  the  cause,  the  greater  the  courage." 

Her  eyes  sparkled  as  she  spoke. 

"  There  is  no  honor  in  it,"  said  the  priest. 

"  His  is  unblemished,  I  assure  you ;  the  count  is 
known  everywhere  as  a  gallant  man — irreproachable, 
Monsieur  ! " 

"But  he  loses  your  money  and  your  father's  at 
the  gaming  table.  Is  that  the  act  of  an  honorable 
man  ? " 

"  Why  should  he  be  economical  in  using  my  for- 
tune when  he  did  not  value  his  own  ?  Can  he  trans- 
form himself  and  suddenly  acquire  the  petty  virtues 
of  a  shopkeeper,  because  he  has  married  a  manufac- 
turers daughter  ?  I  should  have  less  esteem  for  him 
if  he  had  more  consideration  for  us.  He  scorns  us : 
well,  that  is  frank,  plain,  honest.  I  repeat,  he  has 
made  a  bargain — exchanged  his  name  for  a  fortune. 
He  uses  the  fortune,  and  he  is  right ;  do  not  I  use  his 
name  ?  " 

The  young  wife  paused  suddenly,  and  again  began 
to  weep.  "  I  am  very  wretched,"  said  she. 

The  cure  took  her  hand,  and  while  in  his  embar- 
rassment he  sought  for  some  consoling  word,  she  con- 
tinued: "What  is  good  or  evil;  I  can  no  longer 
judge  of  anything  ?  I  struggle  against  my  feelings, 
know  not  what  I  say,  fear  even  my  thoughts,  and 
seek  to  escape  from  myself  as  a  person  does  whose 
clothing  is  on  fire.  I  have  tried  all  means  to  win  his 
love,  and  have  gained  nothing,  not  a  pressure  of  the 
hand,  not  even  a  kiss."  Then,  in  a  lower  tone  she  ad- 
ded :  "  Every  one  is  more  of  a  wife  to  him  than  I ! 
Pardon  me,  my  dear  M.  le  cure,  for  talking  to  you  so 
long  about  my  misfortunes ;  but  indeed  I  need  to  have 
some  helping  hand  extended  to  me,  some  one  to  aid 
me,  some  one  to  have  a  little  affection  for  me.  This 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  139 

last  scandal  must  be  ended  at  once — don't  you  agree 
with  me  ?  All  these  things  were  very  well  at  Paris ; 
but  here  it  is  impossible.  Different  scenes  require 
different  modes  of  conduct.  The  Count  de  Manteig- 
ney  in  love  with  a  bare-footed  gypsy,  a  ragged  goat- 
keeper — I  cannot  endure  it ;  my  father  would  not 
tolerate  it,  and  he  must  be  concilated.  We  have 
debts  !  " 

"  How,  debts !     What  debts  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  in  debt,  and  heavily  too  :  I  told  you 
that  he  gambled.  What  should  I  have  done  if  I  had 
not  borrowed  right  and  left  from  my  seamstress,  my 
dressmaker  ?  It  is  contemptible  :  but  what  could  be 
done  y  It  was  better  for  me  to  attend  to  such  busi- 
ness." 

The  conversation  continued  in  this  strain  for  sev- 
eral minutes.  Abb6  Roche  could  scarcely  restrain 
his  self-command.  All  that  he  had  just  heard  was 
whirling  through  his  brain,  and  the  young  wife,  who 
had  grown  somewhat  calmer,  but  still  trembled,  con- 
tinued :  "  Come,  let  us  think,  let  us  find  some  means 
of  putting  an  end  to  this  disgraceful  scandal :  could 
not  the  young  girl  be  sent  away  ?  " 

"  Her  father  will  never  consent,  Madame,  and  be- 
sides, it  would  be  necessary  to  find  some  pretext ; 
but  it  is  not  possible  that  the  count  can  be  deeply  in- 
terested in  this  child,  who  probably  possesses  none 
of  the  charms  to  which  he  is  accustomed." 

"  That  is  the  very  reason  ;  it  is  the  novelty,  the 
singularity,  the  absurdity  that  attracts  and  retains 
him.  The  fancy  has  already  lasted  some  time  I 
know." 

"  Could  you  not  induce  M.  de  Manteigney  to  go 
away  for  a  time,  divert  his  thoughts,  and  occupy  his 
mind  i1  He  will  soon  forget  this  adventure." 

The  countess  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  priest. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  you  are  right,  I  must  try.  Ho 
wants  to  buy  some  horses,  and  it  is  still  the  gay  sea 


140  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

son  at  the  Pyrenees.  We  will  go  to  Tarbes,  he  has 
a  friend  in  that  vicinity;  we  can  go  to  Lnchon,  to 
Cauterets ;  it  Li  not  impossible ! — Thank  you,  M.  le 
cure"." 

"  Then  you  will  go  with  your  husband  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course.  You  are  right ;  it  must  be 
so,  it  must  be !  " 


XVII. 

It  was  with  great  hesitation  that  the  countess  al- 
luded to  the  trip  to  Tarbes,  in  her  husband's  presence. 
She  said  that  it  would  be  delightful  to  go  to  Paris  by 
way  of  the  Pyrenees,  and  that  it  was  absolutely  ne- 
cessary to  procure  some  of  the  little  horses  so  valuable 
in  mountainous  regions.  In  short,  she  sought  for  all 
possible  methods  of  presenting  her  plan  in  a  favorable 
light,  but,  contrary  to  her  expectations,  the  count  was 
the  first  to  assent,  and  caught  at  the  proposal  to  trav- 
el so  eagerly  that  the  time  for  their  departure  was 
fixed  to  take  place  three  days  after.  The  sudden 
resolution  was  not  so  very  extraordinary.  The  lord 
of  the  manor  had  been  yawning  prodigiously  for  sev- 
eral days.  He  was  overpowered  by  ennui.  His 
friend  Claudius  was  no  longer  there,  and  M.  de  Rou- 
geon,  an  unendurable  companion  and  M.  Larreau  re- 
mained ;  but  besides  the  fact  that  the  son-in-law  and 
father-in-law  were  of  very  different  characters,  the 
count,  now  relieved  from  the  anxieties  concerning 
money  which  had  rendered  his  bachelor  life  so  harass- 
ing, no  longer  thought  of  anything  but  the  incessant 
humiliation  caused  by  the  mere  presence  of  the  cap- 
italist. Must  the  last  scion  of  the  noblest  family  in 
the  country  be  the  silent  vassal  of  the  vulgar  rich  man, 
who  beneath  his  apparent  good-humor  concealed  the 
energy  of  a  keen,  inflexible,  domineering  business 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  141 

man,  It  was  he  who  gave  orders,  and  planned  and 
directed  works  whose  object  he  did  not  even  conde- 
scend to  explain. 

M.  de  Manteigney  suffered  keenly  from  all  this  ; 
but  how  was  he  to  quarrel  with  a  man  to  whose  gen- 
erosity he  owed  his  luxury,  his  style  of  living,  and 
all  the  useless  splendor  so  necessary  to  his  comfort  ? 
The  count  wished  to  dispel  all  painful  thoughts :  but 
he  certainly  needed  to  have  some  agreeable  pursuit 
to  aid  him  in  his  effort.  And  then  Parisian  amuse- 
ments are  not  so  quickly  forgotten.  He  sighed  for 
the  debts,  the  beloved  debts  of  former  days,  the  bus- 
tle, the  thousand  trivial  occupations,  and  when,  re- 
clining in  an  arm-chair  on  the  lawn  before  the  cha- 
teau, with  cigar  between  his  lips,  and  the  paper  on 
his  knee,  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  distant  horizon,  he 
fancied  he  saw  the  scenes  of  a  theatre  in  the  moun- 
tain peaks  glittering  in  the  sun,  and  his  nostrils 
quivered  at  the  remembrance  of  the  odor  of  gas  and 
musk  which  was  not  without  its  charm  to  his  Parisian 
olfactories.  Besides,  his  young  wife,  attractive  as 
she  was,  appeared  to  him  to  be  a  mere  reflection  of 
her  father,  and  reminded  him  of  his  absurd  signature. 
Pere  Loursiere's  daughter  had  amused  him  for  a  short 
time,  it  is  true  ;  but  the  little  barefooted  savage  soon, 
lost  her  charm. 

In  short,  M.  de  Manteigney  was  terribly  bored. 

Abbe  Roche  saw  the  countess  once  more  as  she 
was  leaving  the  church.  "  It  is  all  arranged,"  said 
she,  "  we  leave  to-morrow." 

"  You  see,  Madame,  that  we  must  never  despair ; 
be  consoled  and  take  courage." 

The  following  day,  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, he  saw  two  carriages  piled  with  luggage  rolling 
along  the  valley  at  full  speed  towards  the  Virez  road, 
while  the  workmen  respectfully  took  off  their  caps  as 
they  passed.  The  priest  had  the  courage  to  thank 
God  for  the  departure  which  deeply  saddened  him. 


142  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

M.  Larreau  had  allowed  his  children  to  set  out  in 
company  with  the  Rougeon  family,  and  remained 
alone  at  the  castle,  alleging,  as  a  pretext,  his  need  of 
rest  and  the  necessity  of  his  superintending  the  works 
in  person.  Undoubtedly  he  took  pleasure  in  finding 
himself  absolute  master  of  this  lordly  domain,  which 
he  considered,  not  without  reason,  as  a  conquest,  and 
the  crown  of  his  own  life-edifice. 

Abbe  Roche  felt  none  of  these  pleasant  emotions ; 
everything  around  him  had  assumed  a  sombre  hue,  the 
whole  country  suddenly  became  a  desert.  He  felt 
sadly  isolated,  and  sometimes  surprised  himself  in 
the  act  of  wishing  for  the  return  of  the  merry,  frivo- 
lous party  that  he  had  so  carefully  avoided  only  a 
few  days  before.  He  eagerly  resumed  his  excursions 
to  different  parts  of  the  mountains ;  for  he  was  not 
the  man  to  yield  without  a  struggle  to  preoccupied 
thoughts.  He  wished  to  take  advantage  of  the  last 
fine  weather  to  visit  all  the  favorite  spots  he  loved  so 
much,  and  plunged  into  narrow,  rock-walled  paths, 
where  tiny  rills  babbled  and  chased  each  other  over 
the  stones,  sparkling  like  threads  of  silver,  rapid  and 
untiring,  now  dashing  against  some  obstacle,  dispers- 
ing into  a  thousand  drops,  and  suddenly  disappearing 
to  gush  forth  again  more  noisy,  limpid,  and  bright  than 
ever.  Sometimes  these  little  streams  united  their 
waters  in  a  hollow  of  the  rocks,  and,  resting  after 
their  long  course,  transformed  themselves  into  a 
pure,  transparent  mirror,  which  calmly  reflected  the 
sky  and  trees.  Now  and  then  a  bird,  hopping  cau- 
tiously along,  slowly  approached,  drank  hurriedly, 
and  flew  quickly  away  to  the  nearest  tree,  leaving  the 
mirror  quivering  and  wrinkled. 

"  Everything  in  the  world  has  its  joys,  agita- 
tions, mutual  dependencies,  and  fears,"  thought  Abbe 
Roche,  "  and  even  that  stone,  burning  in  the  sun's 
rays,  delights  in  the  caresses  of  the  icy  water  that 
surrounds  and  cools  it." 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  143 

From  time  to  time  he  saw  one  of  the  small 
houses  of  reddish  firwood  half  concealed  in  a  grove 
of  walnut  trees.  The  hay  was  bursting  through  the 
garret  windows  over  the  balcony,  among  clothes 
hung  out  to  dry,  baskets  of  poultry,  bunches  of 
herbs,  bundles  of  seeds  and  strings  of  onions,  swing- 
ing in  festoons.  Here  stood  a  brick  oven,  with  its 
gaping,  black  mouth; yonder  were  piles  of  faggots, 
heaped  up  for  winter  use;  where  the  hens  laid  their 
eggs,  ladders,  planks,  and  all  the  picturesque  confu- 
sion of  articles  necessary  for  domestic  life.  In  the 
little  sun-flecked  orchard,  under  the  short,  stout  trees 
trained  to  resist  the  high  winds,  long  fir  trunks 
hollowed  into  pipes,  moist  and  dripping,  suspended 
from  tree  to  tree,  and  supported  by  stakes,  conveyed 
the  water  from  a  neighboring  spring  into  a  granite 
trough,  wrinkled  and  roughly  hewn,  but  carpeted 
with  golden  sand  that  glittered  through  the  crystal 
wavelets.  A  cow,  with  half-shut  eyes  and  swelling 
flanks,  drinks  slowly  from  it,  while  two  merry  chil- 
dren, their  tangled  hair  strewn  with  bits  of  straw,  also 
sip  from  their  hands  on  the  other  side  of  the  trough, 
and  laugh  at  the  good  beast,  which  seems  to  say : 
"  My  children,  we  will  play  by  and  by,  when  I  have 
finished." 

The  mother  is  there,  spreading  out  her  washing, 
and  the  husband  not  far  oft',  probably  mowing  the 
fragrant  grass  on  the  steep  slope,  for  the  strange 
song  which  accompanies  the  strokes  of  his  scythe 
can  be  distinctly  heard.  Was  he  not  working  in  the 
valley  ?  Perhaps  he  may  be  the  only  one  that  does 
not.  The  priest  gazed  at  the  picture  with  a  rapid, 
wary  glance ;  it  no  longer  aflforded  him  the  calm  and 
soothing  sensations  he  had  usually  experienced.  The 
scene  before  his  eyes,  and  the  thoughts  which  passed 
through  his  brain,  appeared  only  in  more  violent  con- 
trast. "  Have  I  not  been  imprudent  and  culpable  in 
advising  her  to  go  away  ?  He  will  be  cured  for  the 


144  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

moment ;  but  she  must  return  to  that  furnace  !  "  And 
all  that  he  had  imagined  about  Parisian  society  re- 
turned to  his  memory. 

How  was  it  that  these  degraded  women,  who 
attracted  the  gaze  of  the  crowd,  became  famous,  and 
rendered  those  rich  enough  to  buy  their  favors  famous 
also!  What  must  be  the  depravity  of  a  society 
on  which  such  creatures  imposed  their  laws,  their 
manners,  and  even  their  dress  ?  And  those  suppers, 
after  which  aristocratic  noblemen  lose  mountains  of 
gold  !  must  they  have  recourse  to  such  contemptible 
meanness  the  next  day  to  pay  the  debt  contracted  the 
night  before  ?  He  thought  of  the  Later-Empire  and 
the  orgies  of  Nero.  Belshazzar's  feast  appeared  to 
him,  and  his  imagination  becoming  excited  as  his 
blood  warmed,  he  caught  glimpses,  amid  the  riot  of 
bacchanalian  scenes,  of  hundreds  of  marvellously 
beautiful  courtesans,  irresistibly  bewitching  in  satin 
robes  and  gleaming  jewels,  drinking  from  golden 
cups,  and  trampling  under  foot  young  men  intoxi- 
cated with  pleasure  and  accursed  passions. 

Then  he  breasted  the  steep  slope  more  impetuous- 
ly ;  the  veins  of  liis  forehead  and  neck  protruded,  a 
cold  perspiration  covered  his  frame,  the  muscles  of  his 
jaws  contracted — until  the  image  of  the  weeping 
young  wife  appeared,  like  a  bit  of  blue  sky  at  the  close 
of  a  storm.  He  took  refuge  in  a  recollection  which 
seemed  almost  divine  to  him.  His  soul  mingled 
with  hers;  but  the  more  he  felt  the  charm  of  this 
new  sensation,  the  more  the  ideal  vision  took  palpa- 
ble, vivid  form.  It  was  no  longer  the  sorrow  of  the 
poor  wife,  her  grief,  her  thoughts,  that  haunted  him ; 
but  she  herself,  whose  presence  he  seemed  to  feel, 
whose  material  outlines  he  saw,  the  thousand  details 
of  her  physical  loveliness  rose  before  him  with  over- 
powering distinctness. 

Then  he  too  was  accursed,  conquered  like  others, 
by  the  lusts  of  the  flesh. 


ABOUND  A  SPEING.  145 

Alas  !  the  poor  priest  had  only  one  fault ;  he  was 
a  man,  and  retained  the  strength  of  a  man's  nature  in 
spite  of  his  purity  of  heart.  Exceptional  lives  do 
not  fall  to  the  lot  of  every  one ;  it  is  a  delicate  thing 
to  mould  men  after  conventional  patterns.  In  the  ef- 
fort to  make  angels,  there  is  danger  of  distorting  peo- 
ple, and  creating  monsters,  madmen,  or  idiots  but 
to  proceed. 

The  inhabited  region  of  the  mountain  sudden- 
ly ceased,  and  with  it  all  luxuriance  of  vegetation. 
Nothing  remained  but  stunted  bushes,  gnarled  shrubs, 
coarse,  sparsely  scattered  blades  of  grass,  and  tufts 
of  aromatic  plants,  with  rough,  dark  leaves,  beneath 
which  tiny  flowers  of  singularly  attractive  color  and 
odor  were  concealed.  At  rare  intervals  a  solitary  fir 
tree  arose  between  two  rocks,  the  advanced  sentinel 
of  the  forest.  At  this  height  one  breathed  a  purer 
air,  and  beneath  the  burning  rays  of  the  sun  felt  re- 
freshed by  the  invigorating  breeze  that  blew  over 
the  icy  mountain  peaks.  The  whole  landscape  was 
revealed — paths,  cottages,  thickets,  orchards,  and  even 
the  little  houses  of  Grand  Fort  lining  the  yellow 
highway;  the  chateau  of  Manteigney,  and  the  nar- 
row valley  extending  to  the  foot  of  the  nearest  moun- 
tains whose  misty  outlines  mingled  with  the  clouds. 

It  was  a  beautiful  spectacle,  and  the  cure,  listen- 
ing to  the  distant  sounds  that  reached  his  ears,  said 
to  himself :  "  Man  has  a  short  arm  and  a  vast  soul : 
he  is  the  son  of  God  and  the  earth.  Beyond  the 
narrow  circle  commanded  by  the  physical  organs,  be- 
yond these  human  passions  and  feverish  desires,  the 
spirit,  purified  from  earthly  stains,  springs  toward  the 
limitless  horizons  which  succeed  each  other  until 
God  is  reached." 

For  the  moment  he  believed  that  he  had  entered 
one  of  these  horizons;  the  immensity  of  space  ex- 
alted him,  he  felt  grief  and  delusion  gradually  fad- 
ing— lost  in  his  enthusiasm  as  a  drop  of  muddy  water 


14C  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

is  absorbed  in  the  depths  of  a  crystal  lake.  He 
grew  taller,  stronger ;  a  feeling  of  nobility  and  pride 
overmastered  him ;  he  became  his  former  self,  and 
the  miserable  agitation  of  his  troubled  senses,  the 
anxieties  which  had  so  lately  disturbed  him,  now  ap- 
peared unworthy  of  his  thoughts.  Had  he  not  a  di- 
vine mission  ?  Was  he  grown  so  weak  and  cowardly 
that  the  least  trembling  of  the  man's  nature  within 
him  should  overcome  the  priest !  Should  he  hesitate 
to  go  to  her  aid  because  she  was  a  woman,  and  beau- 
tiful? Of  what  consequence  was  her  sex?  Ought 
he  to  know  that  she  had  one  ? 

He  continued  his  walk  towards  the  forest.  It  was 
dark  and  cool ;  the  paths,  at  first  distinct  upon  the 
soft,  black  soil  among  the  heather  and  wild  straw- 
berry plants,  soon  disappeared  amidst  naked  roots, 
intertwined  like  osiers  in  a  basket.  Everything  was 
moist  and  dripping,  even  the  air  was  full  of  damp- 
ness. The  mosses  that  covered  the  rocks  and  trunks 
glittered  and  quivered  like  a  tuft  of  wild  thyme 
bathed  in  the  morning  dew,  and  long  green  sprays 
hung  from  the  lips  of  the  gnarled,  twisted  branches, 
like  the  beard  of  some  sea  god.  A  luxuriant  vegeta- 
tion encumbered  the  earth,  clung  to  the  trees,  pene- 
trated everywhere ;  even  in  the  clefts  of  the  old 
dead  pines,  rotting  on  the  ground,  hundreds  of  little 
plants  shot  forth  with  the  eagerness  of  heirs  anxious 
to  enjoy  their  wealth. 

It  might  have  been  supposed  that  nature,  restrict- 
ed in  space,  had  here  poured  forth  her  exuberant 
fruitfulness.  One  was  compelled  to  force  a  passage 
through  the  dense  foliage,  and  cling  to  some  root, 
when  the  foot  slipped.  Overflowing,  vivid  life  seemed 
to  envelop  one ;  there  were  millions  of  little  con- 
fused sounds  and  indistinct  murmurs  in  the  motion- 
less air;  not  a  human  being  was  present,  but  a  whole 
world  of  existences !  They  were  heard,  divined. 
All  luxuriance  mutually  attracts.  Whole  populations 


AROUND  A  SPRINU.  147 

were  in  motijn  in  this  wilderness  of  plants,  herbs, 
and  mosses.  The  plants,  herbs,  and  mosses  them- 
selves breathed,  lived — perhaps  loved.  Under  what 
ardent  kiss  had  the  earth  laughed  so  joyously,  under 
what  divine  caress  had  all  this  life  burst  forth  ?  As 
man  looks  more  closely  and  concentrates  his  atten- 
tion, the  clods  of  earth  become  animated  and  peopled, 
the  grains  of  sand  have  their  architecture,  their  cav- 
erns, their  horizons,  nothings  acquire  importance, 
and  the  feelings  are  agitated  by  finding  under  a  tuft 
of  moss  the  limitless  immensity  that  we  dreamed  of 
seeking  only  in  the  heavens. 

Such  were  the  dreams  of  the  priest.  How  many 
times  had  he  seated  himself  at  this  great  banquet  of 
life  !  He  drank,  he  revelled  in  this  pure  spring  of 
poesy,  forgetting  the  narrow  bounds  of  his  humble 
existence,  his  struggles,  his  weaknesses.  His  chest 
expanded ;  he  opened  his  heart  and  arms  to  the  in- 
visible and  fruitful  mistress  whom  God  permitted 
him  to  love.  He  unconsciously  enjoyed  her  as  a  poet 
and  an  artist,  feasted  on  her  with  his  eyes,  his  ears, 
the  keenest  of  his  senses.  Then  drawing  from  his 
pocket  a  large  piece  of  brown  bread,  and  sitting  on  a 
rock  with  his  feet  almost  in  the  water,  he  breakfasted, 
enjoying  the  luxury  of  existence. 

On  finding  himself  once  more  surrounded  by  these 
memories,  Abbe  Roche  felt  as  if  he  had  been  born 
again.  "  I  am  stronger  than  I  believed,"  he  thought; 
"  these  temptations  are  only  ilfusions.  Why  should 
I  waste  my  strength  in  struggling  against  myself,  in 
grinding  to  powder  the  instincts  within  me  V  Why 
should  God  have  deprived  me  of  all  human  joys;  why 
should  He,  at  my  very  birth,  have  severed  the  bonds 
that  unites  men  to  each  other  ?  Why  should  He 
have  condemned  me  to  solitude,  even  in  my  childhood, 
if  not  to  make  me,  thanks  to  these  trials,  superior  to 
ordinary  weaknesses  ?  The  sacrifice  that  exhausts 
and  ruins  the  weak,  purifies  and  reanimates  the  strong. 


148  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

The  priest  has  all  humanity  for  his  relatives,  his  heart 
is  open  to  all,  without  distinction  of  caste,  fortune,  or 
name.  In  defiance  of  his  personal  sympathies,  or 
antipathies,  he  should  give  his  time,  his  care,  and  his 
prayers  to  all." 

The  repugnance  that  he  had  experienced  towards 
the  count  now  seemed  a  reprehensible  feeling.  He 
had  avoided  these  people ;  but  was  disgust  for  their 
vices  his  only  motive  ?  Had  there  not  been  pride  on 
his  part,  and,  not  understanding  their  words,  manners, 
and  behavior,  had  he  not  held  aloof  through  fear  of 
ridicule  ?  He  accused  and  condemned  himself,  saying : 
"  I  will  be  more  humble  in  f  iture."  Joyfully  did  he 
accept  the  humility  which  ennobled  him  in  his  own 
eyes,  and  before  God.  "  My  duty  is  to  go  to  them, 
persuade,  convince,  and  lead  them  into  the  right 
path  in  spite  of  themselves."  And  he  delighted  in 
the  thought  that  he  was  nearer  God,  between  human- 
ity and  Providence,  far-  from  temptations,  nearer  his 
reward. 


xvm. 

The  autumn  was  far  advanced,  the  branches  of 
the  trees  wTere  beginning  to  be  distinctly  outlined 
against  the  gray  sky,  and  heaps  of  yellow  leaves  en- 
cumbered the  beds  of  the  brooks.  In  the  morning, 
the  fires  lighted  by  the  workmen  to  warm  their  soup 
gleamed  here  and  there  in  the  valley,  as  if  through  a 
mist  of  gauze.  The  air  had  become  more  sonorous, 
as  if  one  were  in  an  unfurnished  room,  and  the  bells 
on  the  flocks  coming  down  from  the  mountain  to  take 
up  their  winter  quarters  in  the  village  were  heard  in 
the  distance.  Although  it  rained  frequently,  and  the 
roads  were  very  bad,  M.  Larreau  was  always  out  of 
doors.  Abbe  Roche  avoided  meeting  him  as  much 
as  possible,  but  one  day  the  capitalist  accosted  the 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  149 

cure  so  resolutely  that  he  was  obliged  to  enter  into 
conversation.  "  Are  you  going  this  way,  my  dear 
cure  ?  So  am  I ;  let  us  walk  on  together,  if  agreea- 
ble to  you." 

The  cure,  who  was  not  skilled  in  making  evasive 
answers,  slightly  bent  his  head  in  token  of  assent. 

"  Do  you  know  that  Manteigney  and  Grand- Fort- 
le-IIaut  are  making  a  noise  in  the  world,  my  dear  M. 
le  cur6  ?  One  of  the  papers  I  received  this  morning — 
AY  here  in  the  world  is  tliat  paper?" 

While  speaking  he  looked  over  a  number  of  news- 
papers and  pamphlets  he  held  in  lu's  hand. 

"  I  have  just  been  reading  an  article  that,  upon 
my  honor,  was  a  most  charming  one,  very  witty  and 
highly  colored  although  somewhat  indiscreet,  in  which 
this  country  is  particularly  described:  primitive  cus- 
toms, legends  of  the  other  world,  geographical  con- 
formation, etc.,  nothing  was  omitted.  To  believe  the 
author  of  the  little  essay,  we  are  living  in  a  veritable 
earthly  paradise,  somewhat  haunted  by  evil  spirits,  it 
is  true,  but  that  only  serves  to  make  it  the  more 
striking  and  original.  There  is  the  paper,  M.  le  cure, 
you  can  read  it  at  home.  You  see  it  has  a  very  pret- 
ty engraving  of  the  chateau,  and  here  is  your  church 
in  the  vignette.  It  is  a  very  correct  likeness.  On 
second  thoughts,  take  all  the  papers,  I  have  not  open- 
ed half  of  them ;  but  my  time  is  fully  occupied — this 
is  pay-day." 

Abbe  Roche  was  stupefied  with  astonishment. 
Why  should  people  trouble  themselves  about  Grand 
Fort  ?  What  interest  could  it  have  for  Parisian  read- 
ers? He  instinctively  divined  tha*  this  publicity 
boded  no  good,  and  it  made  him  sad  to  see  his  old 
church  reproduced  on  paper. 

"  Who  could  have  written  this  article?"  he  asked 
anxiously. 

"  Oh !  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  unless  you  are  the 
author.  M.  le  cureV' 


150  AROUND  A  SPRINQ. 

"  I  ?  " 

"  I  was  jesting.  The  truth  is,  I  strongly  suspect 
that  indiscreet  Claudius,  who  prides  himself  upon  his 
literary  talents,  and  really  does  not  write  badly.  Be- 
sides, this  little  piece  is  sprightly,  witty,  and  humor- 
ous like  him,  it  is  exactly  his  style — a  charming  man- 
ner his !  "  Then,  suddenly  changing  the  conversa- 
tion, he  exclaimed  :  "  Well.  M.  le  cure,  winter  will 
soon  be  here ;  the  mornings  are  uncomfortably  cool 
already.  Luckily  wood  is  not  dear  in  this  region. 
Have  you  seen  the  works  ?  " 

"  From  a  distance,  Monsieur,  as  I  passed." 

"  I  believe,  between  ourselves,  that  the  whole 
country  is  very  much  puzzled  about  them ;  it  seems 
so  to  me.  It  is  strange  how  the  simplest  things  as- 
sume a  fantastic  character  among  these  mountains  ; 
everything  appears  supernatural,  even  the  adornments 
a  simple  private  citizen  adds  to  his  dwelling.  Your 
parishioners  are  people  of  imagination,  my  dear  cur6, 
and  are  willing  to  be  guided  by  it.  Try  to  make 
them  prosperous,  to  secure  their  welfare  by  simple 
means:  they  will  energetically  refuse  to  accept.  Use 
a  little  shrewdness  in  the  matter,  show  progress  to 
them  under  a  glittering  haze,  besprinkled  with  the 
marvellous,  and  they  will  rush  towards  it,  you  cannot 
hold  them  back.  Well !  it  is  the  eternal  history  of 
humanity.  After  all,  of  what  importance  are  the 
means,  if  the  result  is  good  ?  Once  more,  what  do 
we  desire  ?  The  prosperity  of  this  country,  which 
has  not  yet  received  the  benefits  of  civilization,  and 
contains  buried  wealth  of  incalculable  extent —  I  am 
a  rich  man,  I  d<?  not  conceal —  But  what  is  the  mat- 
ter with  you  ? " 

"  I  am  somewhat  pressed  for  time,  and  I  think  I 
am  expected  at  home." 

"  Wait  a  few  minutes,  we  do  not  often  have  an 
opportunity  to  exchange  our  ideas.  Besides,  this  is 
a  very  important  matter.  I  believe  I  have  already 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  151 

told  you  that  you  are  no  ordinary  man,  your  intelli- 
gence is  remarkable,  and — I  beg  pardon,  remarkable. 
I  am  only  a  capitalist,  to  be  sure ;  but  I  have  my 
value.  In  our  time,  all  social  crises  are  money  crises. 
Revolutions  have  never  been  anything  but  questions 
of  property ;  the  fate  of  empires  depends  upon  the 
price  of  cutlets ;  question  history.  The  moral  un- 
easiness of  the  masses  rests  solely  upon  a  legitimate 
desire  for  general  material  prosperity.  Now  I  ask 
you  what  is  this  prosperity  if  not  the  constant  and 
skilful  employment  of  capital,  the  prudent  utilization 
of  resources  V  " 

"  Good  heavens,  Monsieur !  but  are  not  morality, 
virtue,  happiness,  those  three  words  which  mean  but 
one  thing,  above  and  beyond  the  mere  material  pros- 
perity of  which  you  speak  so  enthusiastically  ?  " 

"  Stop  there,  my  dear  friend,  you  have  rightly  un- 
derstood me.  The  improvement  of  the  morals  of 
mankind !  That  is  the  supreme  object  towards  which 
the  efforts  of  all  moralists  should  tend,  that  is  all  men 
of  action ;  for  they  are  the  only  true  moralists. 
Well !  do  you  not  feel  that  the  improvement  of  the 
masses  is  based  entirely  upon  the  satisfaction  of  that 
thirst  for  material  prosperity,  whose  first  word  is : 
as-so-ci-a-tion  ?  What  a  noble  word  that  is !  Men 
are  mutually  bound  to  help  each  other,  and  become 
powerless  when  solitary ;  but  let  one  bring  his  capi- 
tal, another  his  intelligence,  activity,  and  knowledge 
of  men;  let  a  third  add  to  this  the  moral  sanction 
which  is  inherent  in  his  person,  his  profession,  his 
character,  oh!  then,  these  three  men  might  move  the 
world!  That  is  association.  Come, 'let  us  speak 
frankly :  what  urges  me  to  dream  of  the  happiness 
and  moral  improvement  of  this  country  ?  You  will 
not  do  me  the  injustice  to  believe  that  it  is  a  narrow 
feeling  of  self  interest  ?  Thank  God,  my  fortune  is 
made,  entirely  made,  I  ask  only  quiet  and  repose;  my 
hair  is  gray,  my  daughter's  fate  settled." 


152  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

Abb6  Roche  started;  the  word  settled  was  pain 
fill  to  him,  he  felt  that  it  was  only  too  true. 

"  What  urges  me  on  is  the  desire  to  make  a  resi- 
due of  intelligence  and  the  powerful  resources  at  my 
control  useful  to  a  new,  artless,  and  interesting  popu- 
lation." 

M.  Larreau  paused  a  moment,  half  opened  his  left 
eye,  and  stroking  his  chin,  said  carelessly,  "  Have  you 
ever  visited  the  uplands  of  la  Salette,  my  dear  friend  ? 
What  an  admirable  thing  is  that  noble  enterprise  ? 
what  marvellous  results  have  been  obtained  in  a  few 
years  !  Ah  !  M.  le  cure\  you  are  right  to  say :  '  Faith 
moves  mountains !  '  there  is  now  an  immense  amount 
of  property  there.  It  is  a  treasure — sprung  from  the 
earth,  one  can  use  no  better  expression." 

"You  were  speaking  just  now  of  this  region,"  ob- 
served the  priest,  "  and  you  remarked — " 

"Asa  Catholic,  I  must  confess  that  the  miracle 
of  la  Salette  is  one  of  the  dogmas  that  inspire  me 
with  more  respect  and — " 

"  The  miracle  of  la  Salette  is  not  an  article  of 
faith,  and  the  word  dogma  has  nothing  to  do  with 
us,"  interrupted  the  priest  hastily. 

"  You  don't  give  me  time  to  explain  myself. 
Wait ;  I  am  not  one  of  those  people  who  mistake  one 
thing  for  another,  pray  believe  me.  I  am  a  good 
Catholic,  I  have  laith,  implicit  faith,  it  is  the  true,  the 
only  religion,  that  is  what  I  think;  but  if  any  one 
should  say  to  me  point  blank,  M.  Larreau,  do  you  be- 
lieve in  the  apparition  of  the  virgin  at  la  Salette  ? 
then,  my  dear  friend,  that  would  be  quite  another 
matter ;  I  should  feel  wounded.  I  am  frank,  as  I 
have  already  told  you  ;  I  should  feel  my  private  con- 
victions wounded  by  such  a  question ;  and  answer 
honorably  and  nobly  as  you  have  done,  I  should  re- 
ply:  '  What  does  it  matter  to  you  ?  The  miracle  of 
la  Salette  is  not  an  article  of  faith  !'  But  while  bow- 
ing before  the  liberty  of  conscience,  which  is  the  very 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  153 

basis  of — between  ourselves,  it  is  well  to  coni'ess  it — 
it  is  the  basis — there  is  no  getting  over  the  difficulty; 
there,  M.  le  cure,  there  is  the  basis.  The  only  thing 
that  prevents  the  wonderful  success  of  this  enter- 
prise." 

The  countenance  of  the  priest  had  assumed  an 
anxious  expression,  his  eyebrows  were  contracted, 
his  glance  fixed ;  he  crossed  his  arms  on  his  breast, 
saying  in  a  firm  tone :  "  Monsieur.  I  will  not  allow 
any  one  to  use  that  word  before  me  in  speaking  of  a 
miracle  which  the  church  approves.  There  has  been 
no  enterprise.  God  would  not  have  permitted  his 
name  to  be  used  for  a  miserable  speculation." 

u  And  who  says  anything  to  the  contrary  ?  What 
a  devil  of  a  man  you  are  !  Pardon  the  expression, 
my  dear  friend.  I  was  going  on  to  say  that  God 
would  not  have  tolerated  that.  I  merely  wish  to  ar- 
rive at  this  point,  that  there  is  something  miraculous 
in  the  success  of  this  belief  which  is  no  article  of  faith, 
I  admit,  but  has  resulted  in  the  prosperity  and  wealth 
of  the  country.  And  yet  the  plateau  of  la  Salette  is 
barren,  arid,  destitute  of  charm,  and  has  neither  bath- 
ing establishments,  casino,  stud,  nor  race  courses; 
what  would  it  be  if  it  possessed  all  these  things. 
There  has  never  been  any  important  apparition  in  this 
country  V  I  am  surprised,  it  is  just  the  place  for  one. 
These  forest-covered,  mysterious  gorges,  these  tor- 
rents, these  roads,  walled  in  by  gloomy  cliffs,  these 
barren  heaths — the  mere  thought  of  them  makes  me 
shudder.  For  my  part,  I  assure  you  that  I  would  not 
watch  cattle  for  eight  successive  days  in  such  places — 
I  am  nervous,  I  should  have  visions,  though  I  should 
not  complain  of  that,  since  it  would  make  the  fortune 
of  the  country." 

Abbe  Roche  for  some  time  had  been  under  the 
influence  of  angry  feelings  which  he  heroically  con- 
trolled. He  now  stopped  suddenly,  and  facing  the 
capitalist,  said :  "  Monsieur,  are  you  depending  upon 


154  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

my  aid  to  assist  you  in  performing  a  miracle  in  these 
mountains  ?  " 

Larreau  darted  a  strange  glance  at  the  brave  cure 
from  his  left  eye,  which  suddenly  opened  wide,  and 
instantly  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  Ha  !  ha !  ha !  are  you  joking  ?  Ha  !  ha  !  for 
what  do  you  take  me,  tell  me  in  good  faith.  If  that 
were  so,  I  should  have  a  saint  at  my  side.  I  spoke 
to  you  of  la  Salette  as  I  should  talk  of  anything  else. 
Dear  me,  how  you  have  made  me  laugh !  What !  I 
talk  carelessly,  in  all  simplicity,  and  you  put  an  inter- 
pretation upon  my  words !  From  any  one  else  the 
remark  you  have  just  made  would  have  annoyed  me 
greatly — wounded  my  feelings.  Do  not  believe  that 
1  wish  to  hurt  yours.  On  the  contrary  " — and  sud- 
denly recovering  his  usual  self-possession — "  I  am  de- 
lighted with  this  conversation,  my  dear  M.  le  cur6,  it 
gives  me  another  proof  of  the  nobility  and  frankness 
of  your  disposition.  I  like  this  pride,  this  ticklish 
susceptibility  which  takes  offence  at  the  mere  idea  of 
a  proposition,  and  sincerely  admire  these  rare  quali- 
ties, even  when  they  cost  the  sharp  answers  you  just 
gave  me  and  which  I  might  have  expected.  If  I  have 
a  regret,"  added  the  capitalist  with  a  very  cunning 
and  somewhat  patronizing  smile,  "  it  is  that  the  bish- 
op did  not  hear  our  long  conversation ;  it  would 
surely  have  confirmed  him  in  the  opinion  I  know  he 
has  of  you,  and  of  which  mine  is  merely  the  echo,  and 
convinced  him,  my  dear  M.  le  cure,  that  your  position 
is  lar  below  your  merits." 

"  So  it  was  a  trial,"  thought  Abbe  Roche,  uncon- 
sciously rustling  the  papers  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"  Hypocrite  !  "  muttered  Larreau  between  his 
teeth.  "  No  matter,  he  is  influential — very  influential." 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  155 


When  Abb6  Roche  had  returned  home,  he  sat 
down  before  his  white  wooden  table,  laid  his  band  in 
his  Saint-Augustine — he  was  very  economical  of  his 
hands — and  began  to  reflect.  What  was  he  to  be- 
lieve and  what  discredit  in  the  singular  words  of  M. 
Larreau?  What  was  his  motive ;  why  had  he  made 
such  an  exhibition  of  pompous  maxims,  whose  pre- 
cise meaning  had  escaped  him  ?  What  was  the  ob- 
ject of  his  contradictions,  his  theories  about  associa- 
tion ?  All  that  confusion  of  empty  words — but  were 
they  empty  ?  Did  they  not  perhaps  convey  an  intel- 
ligible meaning  to  a  man  accustomed  to  the  subtleties 
of  city  language  ? 

The  cure,  weary  of  trying  to  penetrate  the  ob- 
scurity, opened  one  of  the  papers  which  he  had  placed 
upon  the  table  when  he  entered,  and  first  of  all  se- 
lected the  article  mentioned  by  the  countess's  father. 
It  was  a  sort  of  supplement,  entitled :  A  singular 
walk.  The  piece  was  written  in  a  pretentious,  spark- 
ling, extravagant  style,  and  contained  all  manner  of 
absurdities. 

The  country  was  described  in  such  vivid  colors 
that  it  might  have  been  taken  for  one  of  the  wildest 
regions  of  Australia,  and  yet  while  reading  it,  one 
seemed  to  receive  the  odor  of  paste  and  colored  pic- 
tures peculiar  to  toy-shops.  The  customs  of  the  in- 
habitants were  at  least  five  centuries  behind  the 
times;  they  possessed  the  candor  of  the  Golden  Age, 
were  innocence  itself;  their  dancing  on  the  grass  was 
performed  to  the  sound  of  a  peculiar  instrument  that, 
dated  as  far  back  as  the  fifteenth  century. 

The  fantastic  description  of  the  landscape  formed 
an  excellent  background  for  the  outline  of  the  chateau, 
which  was  sketched  in  glowing  colors  :  sombre  tow- 
ers frowning  over  the  abyss,  dark,  sonorous  vaults. 


156  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

long  galleries,  battlements,  drawbridges,  etc.  It  was 
reality  itself,  but  skilfully  arranged,  transformed  into 
a  frightful  but  charming  nightmare,  so  that  amid 
these  surroundings,  the  rich,  luxurious  furniture  of 
the  castle,  Parisian  mode  of  living,  excursions  on 
donkeys,  breakfasts  in  the  depths  of  virgin  forests, 
champagne  cooling  in  icy  torrents,  even  the  family 
concerts  in  the  evening,  the  coffee  served  upon  the 
terrace  in  silver  cups  engraved  with  coats  of  arms,  in 
full  view  of  a  most  beautiful  landscape,  formed  a  de- 
lightful contrast  well  adapted  to  excite  the  reader's 
imagination.  At  the  close  of  the  article,  the  author, 
as  if  by  chance,  carelessly  mentioned  the  name  of  this 
fairy  castle,  then  struggled  with  wittily-expressed 
scruples,  and  at  last  determined  not  to  efface  a  pro- 
per name  so  well  known  to  the  fashionable  world 
that  it  was  unnecessary  to  make  a  mystery  of  it. 

The  last  lines  aroused  the  indignation  of  the  priest. 
They  were  not  true.  Why  should  the  author  affect 
scruples  that  certainly  had  no  reality,  since  he  might 
have  removed  them  by  a  stroke  of  the  pen  ?  There 
must  be  some  hidden  motive;  but  what  were  these 
designs  ?  The  good  cure  was  not  sufficiently  familiar 
with  the  customs  of  certain  papers  to  perceive  the 
true  object  of  the  article :  a  very  skilful  catchword, 
all  the  more  so  that  it  was  concealed,  and  presented 
in  the  form  that  would  be  most  certain  to  impress  it 
upon  the  minds  of  all  who  read  the  sketch.  He  was 
ignorant  of  the  thirst  for  publicity  then  making  every 
throat  dry,  curious  samples  of  which  were  presented 
in  different  parts  of  the  same  paper :  everywhere 
were  personal  anecdotes,  confidences,  revelations,  in- 
discretions, but  Abbe  Roche,  somewhat  disgusted, 
and  not  understanding  what  possible  interest  any  one 
could  take  in  the  publication  of  such  scandals,  laid  the 
sheet  aside.  He  was  about  to  unfold  another  from 
the  pile,  when  his  attention  was  attracted  by  a  little 
piece  of  paper  without  signature  or  address,  which 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  157 

seemed  to  have  fallen  out  of  some  letter.     He  me- 
chanically read  the  following  words : 

"  After  all,  I  soon  consoled  myself  for  the  break- 
ing of  one  of  the  bottles ;  the  other  was  quite  suf- 
ficient. Made  under  the  circumstances  I  have  just 
related,  the  analysis  was  perfectly  satisfactory.  We 
were  right,  as  you  shall  see ;  this  is  the  result — a 
splendid  one  : 

Sulphate  of  Chalk 0,170 

Chloride  of  Sodium 0,024 

Bicarbonate  of  Chalk 0,036 

"  Magnesia 0,036 

Silica 0,008 

Oxide  of  Iron indications 

Arseniate traces 


Total 0,305 

"  If  you  are  not  satisfied,  you  are  certainly  hard 
to  please." 

The  priest  had  read  these  lines  with  the  utmost 
good  faith,  never  dreaming  that  he  was  encroaching 
upon  private  matters,  but  he  now  felt  a  tinge  of  regret, 
and  carefully  put  the  bit  of  paper  under  the  cover  of 
one  of  the  pamphlets.  He  had  understood  none  of 
this  scientific  information.  It  was  no  great  source 
of  surprise  that  M.  Larreau,  in  his  former  business  of 
melting  metals,  should  have  acquired  some  little 
chemical  knowledge :  but  he  would  never  have  sup- 
posed that  his  love  of  science  would  induce  him  to 
maintain  such  a  correspondence. 

However,  it  was  a  matter  of  very  little  con- 
sequence. 

He  tore  the  wrapper  from  a  second  paper.  It 
was  a  journal  of  art,  from  which  he  learned  that  a 
certain  landscape,  inscribed  with  a  famous  name, 
though  one  unknown  to  him,  was  a  work  whose  bril- 
liant and  tempered  shades,  dark  yet  radiant,  opened 
new  horizons  to  art.  He  read  that  there  were  "  in- 


158.  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

dependent  lines  and  sympathetic  and  progressive 
half-tints  in  the  clouds  ;  that  the  vibrating  mingling  of 
tones  revealed  the  storms  of  a  noble  soul  struggling 
with  the  philosophical  aspirations  of  the  last  centu- 
ry, and  vigorously  supported  by  the  analysis  of  as- 
thetical  traditions,  successively  and  eternally  palpita- 
ting in  the  breath  of  the  persistent  individuality  of 
him  who — "  Abb6  Roche  bent  his  head  over  his 
clasped  hands.  How  small  he  felt  in  the  presence  of 
this  immensity  !  Of  how  many  tilings  he  was  utterly 
ignorant !  Yet  he  turned  the  pages  more  rapidly, 
and  discovered  a  portion  of  the  magazine,  where  short 
items  of  news  were  separated  from  each  other  by 
asterisks.  Naturally  he  stopped,  expecting  to  find 
lighter  reading.  The  following  words  met  his  eye : 

"  The  museum  of  Cluny  has  just  added  to  its  rich 
collection  a  wooden  statuette  of  the  greatest  interest. 
It  is  one  of  the  finest  and  purest  specimens  of  the 
wood-carvings  of  the  fifteenth  century,  and  we  do 
not  believe  that  any  work  of  that  period  exists  more 
elegant  in  design  and  perfect  in  execution.  The  fig- 
ure, amply  draped,  represents  Saint  John.  He  is 
standing,  and  measures  about  twenty  inches.  Al- 
though we  are  not  in  a  position,  after  a  cursory  ex- 
amination, to  assert  authoritatively  a  fact  of  so  much 
importance,  everything  leads  us  to  the  belief  that 
the  statuette  is  not  of  French  origin.  The  letter  F, 
plainly  visible  on  the  left  hand  side  of  the  pedestal, 
and  certain  peculiarities  about  the  drapery,  induce  us 
to  think  that  the  work  should  be  attributed  to  Fran- 
cesco, son  of  Domenico  di  Valdarnbrino,  who  flourish- 
ed at  Sienna  in  1409.  How  did  this  precious  carv- 
ing find  its  way  to  one  of  the  poorest  churches  in 
France?  We  cannot  explain  it. 

"  It  now  remains  for  us  to  congratulate  and  thank 
Viscount  Claudius,  to  whom  the  honor  of  the  dis- 
covery of  the  treasure  is  due.  It  was  only  in  com- 
pliance with  the  entreaties  of  the  administration  that 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  159 

this  skilful  connoisseur,  whose  learning  and  correct 
taste  are  well  known,  consented  to  relinquish  this 
unique  relic.  We  consider  this  act  of  self-denial  in 
favor  of  the  public  worthy  of  all  praise;  and  we  are 
happy  to  mention  it,  all  the  more  so,  as  we  are  per- 
mitted to  reveal  a  fact  greatly  to  the  honor  of  the 
donor — all  the  more  so,  we  say,  because  the  generous 
connoisseur  surrendered  it  for  the  same  price  that 
he  paid,  which  was,  we  are  informed,  five  thousand 
francs,  an  insignificant  sum,  when  it  is  considered  that 
this  curiosity  is  one  of  the  finest  in  the  museum  of 
Cluny,  rich  as  it  is  in  antiquities  of  every  description." 

Abbe  Roche  read  the  strange  article  just  quoted 
twice  over,  then  suddenly  dashed  the  magazine  down, 
exclaiming  :  "  But  that  is  perfectly  infamous !  The 
man  is  a  scoundrel !  He  has  robbed  us  ! — he  is  a 
liar !  » 

To  see  the  priest  striding  from  one  end  of  his 
room  to  the  other,  with  flushed  face  and  clenched 
hands,  it  was  easy  to  perceive  that  this  holy  Hercules 
had  a  very  passionate  temper,  notwithstanding  his 
usual  gentleness  of  demeanor. 

His  forebodings  had  not  deceived  him  ;  fashiona- 
ble society  was  composed  only  of  knaves,  and  some 
unaccountable  chain  of  reasoning  led  him  to  think  of 
the  countess,  living  in  that  infected  air.  He  would 
tear  her  from  such  surroundings.  He  would  quarrel 
with  them  all — tell  them  of  this  deed — spit  in  the 
scoundrel's  face.  His  poor  Saint  John  !  a  friend  had 
been  snatched  away.  A  bold  liar  had  entered  the 
church  and  profaned  it,  his  dear  old  church,  which 
was  so  pure,  so  full  of  God's  presence! — Could  he 
keep  the  gilded  bas-relief  that  perpetually  reminded 
him  of  the  rascal's  crime  ?  He  went  to  the  church  at 
once,  without  delay,  listening  only  to  the  promptings 
of  his  anger,  intending  to  take  down  the  accursed 
sculpture,  break  it  into  a  thousand  fragments,  and  leave 
no  trace  remaining ;  but  when  he  saw  suspended  be- 


160  AROUND  A  SPRING 

fore  it  the  lamp  which  had  been  presented  by  tho 
countess,  his  anger  gradually  cooled,  and  he  thought 
he  would  merely  send  back  the  Flight  into  7L;/////'. 
The  box  was  still  in  the  vestry.  Where  did  this 
Viscount  Claudius  live  ?  The  priest  did  not  know, 
and  he  would  not  ask  the  address  from  M.  Larreau, 
who  alone  could  give  it. 

Besides,  if  he  sent  the  case  back,  would  it  not  be 
supposed  that  he  took  this  course  in  order  to  claim 
his  share  of  the  five  thousand  francs  ?  Was  it  not  his 
duty  to  bear  all  this  with  dignity,  to  despise  and  for- 
get the  shameful  transaction  ?  And  if  he  quarrelled 
with  the  count's  friends,  with  the  count  himself,  the 
doors  of  the  chateau  would  be  closed  against  him — he 
would  lose  all  influence  there,  and  then  how  was  he 
to  aid  and  succor  the  poor  wife  who  had  no  friends 
save  himself. 

XX. 

A  few  days  after  the  events  just  related,  M.  Lar- 
reau set  out  for  Paris.  The  winter,  in  his  opinion, 
had  become  unbearable,  and  the  cold  was  indeed  ter- 
ribly severe  in  the  lofty  chateau,  perched  upon  its  lone- 
ly pedestal  of  rocks.  At  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
the  whole  valley  became  filled  with  a  dense  icy  fog 
that  rose  to  the  foot  of  the  castle  walls.  Nothing 
was  to  be  seen  in  the  dull,  gray,  hueless  sky,  except 
an  occasional  bird  of  prey,  flying  swiftly  away  from 
the  glaciers.  At  night,  the  sound  of  the  creaking 
doors  and  windows  reverberated  through  the  long 
corridors,  and  startled  one  from  slumber.  However 
anxious  the  capitalist  might  be  to  continue  the  work 
of  improving  Manteigney,  he  could  bear  no  more,  and 
wrapping  himself  in  his  fur  overcoat,  hastily  started 
for  Paris,  leaving  the  field  clear  to  the  severities  of 
the  climate. 

The  snow  fell  in  heavy  flakes,  covering  the  whole 


AROUND  A  SPRING.^  1G1 

country  with  its  thick  shroud,  so  that  the  poor  village, 
attacked  on  all  sides,  resembled  a  ship  shut  in  by  ice- 
bergs. No  sound  was  heard  save  the  lugubrious 
croaking  of  the  ravens,  circling  above  the  cottages, 
or  alighting  in  flocks  upon  the  towers  of  the  chateau. 
There  were  no  songs  amidst  the  foliage,  no  rustlings 
among  the  grass.  The  frozen  brooks  had  ceased 
their  music,  all  was  sad,  cold,  and  dull.  When  the 
wind  blew,  long  plaintive  moans,  that  sounded  like 
the  groans  of  souls  in  agony,  echoed  from  the  forest. 
The  snow,  dislodged  from  the  trees,  whirled  along 
by  the  tempest,  penetrated  through  all  the  chinks  of 
the  dwellings,  filled  up  the  chimneys,  accumulated  in 
heaps  before  the  doors,  and  blocked  up  the  entrance 
to  the  cellars.  It  was  necessary  to  stop  up  all  the 
crevices  of  the  windows,  the  poor  people  were  be- 
sieged, and  they  hungup  their  garments,  and  collect- 
ed all  their  rags  to  keep  out  the  icy  wind  that  whist- 
led under  the  doors.  What  a  furious  battle  raged 
in  the  forest,  whose  depths  could  no  longer  be  en- 
tered !  How  many  ancient  pines  were  shattered, 
whose  gray  skeletons  the  following  summer  would 
find  extended  upon  the  moss  ! 

When  the  pleasant  weather  returned,  people 
emerged  from  their  houses,  removing  the  snow  from 
the  thresholds.  Every  face  was  wan  and  violet-hued, 
every  nose  red,  all  eyes  moist.  The  men,  wrapped 
in  their  large  brown  coats  with  little  double  capes, 
and  the  women  concealed  in  their  black  cloaks  and 
folded  hoods,  walked  quickly  along  on  their  way  to 
the  stables,  from  whence  sounded  the  voices  of  the 
cows  and  goats,  apparently  in  friendly  conversation. 
The  children  were  the  only  ones  who  enjoyed  the 
fine  weather;  they  might  be  seen,  with  their  heads 
hidden  under  their  red  caps,  tumbling  about  in  the 
snow,  or  pushing  their  sleds  before  them  with  shouts 
of  laughter. 

As  soon  as  evening  began  to  approach,  the  village 
11 


1G2  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

Avas  again  deserted,  all  the  inhabitants  retreated  to 
their  homes,  and  assembled  in  groups  around  the 
hearth  before  a  huge  fire  of  pine  logs,  whose  odorous 
flames  licked  the  smoky  Avails  and  the  black  bottom 
of  the  kettle.  Then,  while  the  children  screamed, 
and  the  women  twirled  their  spindles,  the  old  moun- 
taineers filled  their  short  pipes  by  the  light  of  the 
rosin,  and  told  long  stories,  strangely  vivid  tales,  full 
of  marvellous  incidents  and  mysterious  struggles  be- 
tween light  and  shade,  good-luck  and  misfortune. 
There  was  the  never-ending  fable  of  the  mountain 
opening  its  sides  and  admitting  the  favored  wood-cut- 

•  ter  to  immense  caverns  heaped  with  treasure.  The 
cold,  the  wind,  the  gloom  was  forgotten  as  they  lis- 
tened. There  was  the  legend  of  the  shepherd  overtak- 
en by  the  snow-storm,  whom  the  good  fairy  received 
with  his  flock  in  a  suddenly  enlarged  cleft  of  the  rock, 
and  in  imagination  they  followed  him  as  he  walked 
on  and  on  so  long  that  when  he  emerged  from  the 
dark  gallery,  he  found  himself  in  a  meadow  sur- 
rounded by  the  best  of  pasture  land,  under  the  rays 
of  a  June  sun.  And  the  cures  of  former  times,  who 
cured  all  kinds  of  diseases !  And  the  wood-cutter, 
possessed  by  an  evil  spirit — the  devil  in  person,  per- 
haps— who  by  a  chance  blow  of  his  axe  had  split  the 
mountain  and  divided  its  summit  into  two  portions  ! 
What  a  long-lived  tradition  is  that  of  the  rock 
cleft  by  a  hero !  We  meet  with  it  in  the  Alps,  find 
it  in  the  Pyrenees  at  Roland's  beach,  and  in  many 
other  places.  Before  these  immutable,  eternal  mass- 
es, at  whose  base  generations  spring  up  and  die 
without  leaving  any  trace  behind,  it  seems  as  if  man 
wished  to  console  himself  for  his  poweiiessness  and 

.  Aveakness  by  these  singular  fictions.  Man  has  a  cease- 
less longing  to  make  an  exchange  Avith  the  nature 
that  surrounds  him.  He  gives  her  his  time,  his 
labor,  and  his  strength-  he  penetrates  her  depths, 
changes  her  aspect,  imprints  his  human  seal  upon  her. 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  163 

She  penetrates  him  also,  feeds  him,  affords  him  the 
means  of  living.  There  is  no  conflict  between  them, 
but  a  perpetual  exchange.  He  cultivates  the  earth, 
she  supports  him ;  he  watches,  searches,  studies,  ca- 
resses. She  pleases  his  senses,  consoles  him,  cheers 
him,  adorns  herself  for  him,  dons  bright  colors,  and, 
to  complete  the  charm,  fills  the  air  with  sweet  odors 
and  harmonious  sounds.  Such  is  the  common  law ; 
but  when  a  sterner  nature,  more  impenetrable  to 
man,  refuses  his  advances,  and,  sufficient  for  herself, 
allows  him  neither  to  tame,  caress,  nor  understand 
her,  exists  wholly  without  relation  to  him,  man  re- 
news by  his  imagination  the  bonds  that  the  step- 
mother has  broken,  and  consoles  himself  for  being 
crushed  by  ruling  over  her  in  his  dreams. 

Abbe  Roche  no  longer  thought  of  these  old 
legends ;  he  now  had  very  different  visions.  While 
the  wind  howled  and  blew  in  gusts  down  the  chim- 
ney, his  whole  life  passed  in  review  before  him.  No, 
he  never  had  his  share  of  tenderness,  his  share  of 
all  the  good  things  of  the  heart,  which,  after  all,  are 
not  superfluous. 

He  had  deluded  himself  by  considering  his  mis- 
fortunes as  privileges;  he  had  sometimes  believed 
that  he  was  walking  at  the  head  of  his  flock,  leading 
the  way,  and  animating  them  by  his  own  example ; 
he  had  prided  himself  upon  it !  but  was  he  not  in  re- 
ality a  poor  man,  who  was  deprived  of  everything ! 
For  a  long  time  he  had  borne  the  rude  winters  of  the 
mountains  without  complaint,  nay,  even  with  joyous 
courage ;  he  had  never  experienced  so  deep  a  feeling 
of  sadness  and  isolation.  Although  his  mode  of  life 
was  essentially  the  same,  and  he  made  the  greatest 
exertions  not  to  change  it  in  the  smallest  particular, 
it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  whole  world  were  upside 
down.  The  wind  no  longer  had  the  same  voice,  nor 
the  snow  the  same  hue ;  the  cold  was  more  piercing, 
his  very  heart  shivered.  He  sat  motionless  for  whole 


1G4  AROUND  A  SPEING. 

hours,  gazing  into  the  fire  as  one  might  look  into  a 
magic  mirror  that  transformed  thoughts  into  images. 
He  saw  the  countess,  looking  as  coquettish  as  on 
the  day  of  their  first  meeting;  she  had  dried  her 
tears,  forgotten  her  sorrows.  Feted,  adorned,  joyous, 
radiantly  beautiful,  and — decollete'e,  she  moved  on 
through  the  throng,  which  parted,  gazing  at  her  love- 
liness. He  experienced  so  keen  an  emotion  that 
he  trembled,  and  felt  ashamed.  Then  the  picture 
changed,  and  he  saw  Claudius  selling  the  statuette  to 
the  Cluny  museum.  The  nobleman  smiled,  showing 
his  white  teeth,  and  said :  "  Gentlemen,  I  present  it 
to  you."  He  stretched  out  his  hand,  the  gold  was 
counted  out,  and  poor  Saint  John,  cleansed,  brilliant, 
and  unrecognizable,  was  installed  in  his  new  abode. 
Soon  after  Mine,  de  Manteigney,  leaning  on  her  hus- 
band's arm  talking  with  Claudius,  and  surrounded  by 
all  her  friends,  came  to  admire  the  statuette,  and 
everybody  burst  into  shouts  of  laughter  at  the  story 
of  the  poor,  simple  cure,  who  had  given  up  this  mas- 
terpiece as  one  casts  aside  an  old  cracked  kettle. 

"  I  am  mad,"  said  Abb6  Roche,  rising  suddenly ; 
"  I  must  have  an  attack  of  fever !  Why  should  these 
people  trouble  themselves  about  me  ?  How  could 
the  poor  wife  win  the  affection  of  her  husband — 
what  influence  could  she  obtain  over  a  nature  so  per- 
verse ?  No,  no,  she  is  still  unhappy,  still  suffering, 
alas ! "  The  thought  was  a  solace  to  him.  "  No  one 
around  her  can  understand  her.  In  whom  could  she 
have  confidence,  to  whom  could  she  open  her  heart  ? 
She  has  only  one  sincere,  disinterested  friend — to  her 
I  am  not  a  man." 

Tie  clasped  his  hands  over  his  brow,  saying : 
"  What  is  to  be  done,  oh  !  God,  what  is  to  be  done  to 
save  her  ?  "  And  he  soon  forgot  himself  in  her,  as  a 
physician  might  do  who,  watching  his  patient  with 
too  much  care,  no  longer  thought  of  the  sickness. 

Then  to  recall  himself  to  his  duty,  his  position  as 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  165 

a  friend  and  spiritual  father,  lie  talked  aloud,  as  if  she 
had  been  present — became  excited  by  the  sound  of 
his  words,  the  warmth  of  his  own  emotion — discov- 
ered consoling  thoughts  and  salutary  counsel,  and, 
lest  he  should  have  forgotten  all  this  when  she  re- 
turned, took  notes  in  his  large  handwriting  on  a 
sheet  of  paper.  He  was  relieved — she  would  listen 
to  him — and  waves  of  indulgence  for  her  surged  in 
his  heart. 

"  We  must  avoid  too  severe  judgments,"  he  wrote. 
"  Before  condemning  any  one,  let  us  remember  the 
society  in  which  he  has  lived." 

He  said  we.  He  joined  himself  to  her ;  made  her 
cause  his  own,  and  she  accepted  the  community  of 
interests,  since  she  did  not  reply.  As  he  wrote  the 
vw,  he  heard  the  rustling  of  her  dress,  and  inhaled 
the  perfume  that  always  surrounded  her.  She  was 
there,  looking  at  him  with  her  tearful  eyes,  and  say- 
ing :  "  You  are  indulgent,  my  dear  cure,  like  a  man 
who  is  shielded  from  the  weaknesses  of  the  world." 

And  he  was  glad  that  by  accusing  him  of  too 
great  indulgence,  she  aided  him  to  mislead  himself, 
for  in  the  depths  of  his  heart,  he  felt  a  profound  con- 
tempt, which  at  times  resembled  hatred,  for  the  mis- 
erable libeiline.  "  You  have  employed  the  usual 
weapons  to  win  him ;  now  use  other  means,  my  child — 
show  yourself  disarmed  before  him.  Compel  his  af- 
fection by  the  modesty  and  simplicity  of  your  man- 
ners ;  surprise  him,  fix  his  attention  by  the  gentleness 
of  your  virtues,  let  him  find  in  you  what  he  meets 
nowhere  else,  a  Christian  sister,  an  angel  who  protects, 
calms,  and  cheers  him.  Unless  he  is  the  devil  him- 
self, how  can  he  help  being  touched  ?  That  you  may 
the  more  surely  win  his  love,  renounce  all  immoder 
ate  luxury  of  dress,  the  foolish  allurements  of  useless 
coquetry;  no  longer  transform  your  physical  nature 
by  deceitful  artifices,  lay  aside  your  jewels  and  adorn- 


166  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

merits ;  no  longer  hide  yourself  under  silk  and  gold 
like  a  Pagan  idol ;  show  yourself  as  you  are." 

He  then  entered  into  the  most  minute  particulars, 
explaining  his  idea  with  increasing  emotion,  seeing 
her,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  transformed  before  his 
eyes,  approaching  nearer  to  him,  becoming  the  super- 
natural being  of  whom  he  constantly  dreamed,  in- 
stead of  the  woman  he  could  not  forget;  he  yielded 
to  the  irritating  charm  of  this  angelic  disguise.  "  Do 
not  seek,  poor  young  wife,  to  win  his  love  too  soon ;" 
— his  hand  trembled — "  by  devotion  and  sacrifice  pu- 
rify your  affection,  that  God  may  bless  it.  And  if  in 
this  noble  effort  you  at  first  meet  with  cruel  obstacles, 
do  not  yield  to  despair,  which  is  a  common  weakness, 
do  not  content  yourself  with  mere  courage,  but  bold- 
ly examine  your  own  sufferings,  and  you  will  soon 
find  in  them  the  stern  but  deep  joy  of  the  Christian 
victim,  who  looks  sorrow  in  the  face  without  turning 
pale.  Who  told  you  that  others  have  not  suffered  as 
much  as  you,  that  somewhere  there  are  not  souls  as 
wretched  as  yours,  which,  having  no  right  to  com- 
plain, await  their  deliverance  in  silence  ?  " 

His  writing  became  more  rapid,  less  legible. 
"  Raise  your  heart  above  your  griefs  and  the  fetters 
of  humanity,  my  child,  my  sister ;  ascend  in  thought 
to  those  divine  heights  where,  under  the  eye  of  God, 
beings  who  understand  each  other  can  love  for  ever 
without  a  blush ;  where  all  barriers  crumble ;  where 
the  vows  of  men  are  annulled ;  where  affection,  free 
from*  all  carnal  stains,  beams —  Grant,  grant  that  my 
soul  may  mingle  with  yours  !  " 

Suddenly  he  stopped,  dashed  his  clenched  hand 
upon  the  table,  and  crushing  the  paper  on  which  he 
had  just  written,  threw  it  into  the  fire.  "  How  I 
love  her ! "  said  he.  And  raising  his  eyes  towards  the 
crucifix  suspended  over  the  chimney-piece,  he  added  : 
"  Dost  Thou  not  permit  me,  oh,  God !  to  love  her 
thus  ¥  " 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  167 

It  was  the  crucifix  that  she  had  noticed,  in  regard 
to  which  she  had  said  one  day,  with  her  little  oft-hand 
manner  :  "  My  dear  cure,  do  you  wish  to  dispose  of 
it  ? "  Thus,  while  looking  at  the  image  of  the  Sa- 
viour, he  heard  the  words,  as  if  repeated  by  some  dis- 
tant echo,  saw  again  the  gesture  she  had  made  with 
her  little  ungloved  hand,  the  movement  of  her  fingers, 
and  even  her  pink  convex  nails,  in  whose  corners  the 
gloves  had  left  a  little  of  their  white  powder ;  but 
these  memories  inspired  his  heart  with  so  pure  an  af- 
fection that  even  before  the  divine  image  he  did  not 
blush  for  his  emotion. 

From  whence  came  this  Christ,  that  he  now  gazed 
at  through  his  tears,  his  life  long  friend  and  confidant  ? 
He  was  thinking —  How  many  other  mysteries  might 
still  be  contained  in  his  own  existence  ? 

"  Are  you  sick,  M.  le  cur6  ? "  said  mere  Hilaire, 
touching  Abbe  Roche  on  the  shoulder. 

She  had  spoken  in  a  low,  confidential  tone.  The 
words  had  been  upon  her  lips  for  several  days,  but  she 
had  not  dared  to  utter  them. 

The  priest,  who  had  supposed  himself  to  be  alone, 
turned  'suddenly,  and.  perceiving  the  loving  face  of 
his  old  friend  rose,  took  her  head  between  his  hands, 
and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead. 

"My  poor  child,  my  poor  child  !  are  you  then  so 
very  unhappy,  tell  me  ?  What  is  the  matter  ?  You 
neither  eat  nor  sleep  !  Ah !  I  see  very  plainly  that — 
I  say  nothing,  because  I  am  only  your  servant,  but  I 
have  eyes.  If  you  would  only  tell  me  :  '  Mere  Hilaire, 
that  is  what  troubles  me,'  perhaps  I  might  help  you. 
He  must  be  in  some  great  trouble  to  embrace  me  i\ 
that  way,"  she  added,  speaking  to  herself  and  wiping 
her  eyes  with  a  corner  of  her  apron. 

"  No,  it  is  nothing;  it  will  soon  be  over,  my 
friend." 

But  she  could  not  believe  him,  for  while  saying  : 
"  It  is  nothing,1'  he  had  taken  her  hand  and  pressed  it 


168  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

more  and  more  warmly.  After  a  moment's  pause,  he 
looked  earnestly  into  her  face  and  asked  :  "  Do  you 
know  who  gave  me  this  crucifix  ?  Tell  me  the  truth." 

Mere  Hilaire  recoiled  a  pace  or  two,  as  if  terri- 
fied. 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,  M.  le  cur6.  Why  do 
you  ask  me  that  ?  It  is  the  first  time  that  you  have 
spoken  of  it  for  more  than  twenty  years.  Is  that  the 
cause  of  your  grief?  But  I  cannot,  for  I  know  noth- 
ing about  it." 

"  Yet  I  always  thought  that  you  had  something  to 
do  with  the  gift." 

"  I  ?  oh  !  I  assure  you  that  I  did  not  give  it  to  you, 
my  child.  I  was  so  poor  at  that  time." 

"  No  doubt,  but  you  might  have  been  told  to  send 
it  to  me  at  the  seminary,  for  instance — " 

She  became  suddenly  agitated.  "  How  do  you 
know  that  ? "  she  exclaimed,  "  how  do  you  know 
that  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  had  any  positive  proof  of  it ;  but  as 
the  box  containing  the  Christ  was  sent  me  from  Vi- 
rez,  and  I  do  not  know  any  one  in  the  city  or  suburbs 
except  yourself,  I  thought  at  once — " 

"  Dear  me !  that  is  true.  And  why  didn't  you 
ever  speak  to  me  about  it  before  ?  " 

"  Why  did  you  not  mention  it  yourself?  " 

"  Well ;  then  you  want  to  know  everything  that  I 
do  about  it,  my  child  ?  I  would  have  told  you  will- 
ingly, although  it  is  very  little ;  but  I  thought  that 
you  might  perhaps  be  troubled  about  it,  and  I  had 
been  compelled  to  promise  to  say  nothing." 

"  By  whom  ?  " 

"  The  person  who  brought  the  crucifix.  It  is  true 
that  I  sent  it  to  you  myself  because  I  was  requested 
to  do  so,  and  besides,  the  old  gentleman  did  not  know 
your  address." 

"  And  was  that  the  first  time  that  you  ever  saw 
him  ?  " 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  169 

"  Why  do  you  ask  all  these  questions,  my  child  ? 
— It  is  so  long  ago  !  I  don't  remember  much  about 

O        O 

it." 

"  Tell  me,  I  beg  of  you." 

"  Well !  yes,  I  had  seen  him  several  times,  because 
he  was  the  person  who  brought  me  the  money — "  Is 
it  not  hard  to  be  obliged  to  tell  him  these  things  ! 
"  He  brought  me  the  money  for  you — that  is,  for  a 
child  that  had  been  entrusted  to  my  care,  that  is  all." 

The  priest's  eyes  brightened  strangely. 

"  And  you  never  knew  the  name  of  this  old 
gentleman,  as  you  call  him.  Did  he  seem  to  be  in- 
terested in — the  child  that  had  been  entrusted  to 
you?" 

"  Oh  !  he  didn't  even  look  at  you,  poor  little  inno- 
cent that  you  were,  and  I  loved  you  all  the  more  on 
that  account.  He  came  to  bring  the  money  because 
he  had  received  orders  to  do  so,  and  then  quietly 
mounted  his  horse  again.  One  day,  in  my  anger,  I  told 
the  whole  story  to  M.  Vilain,  who  was  the  cur6  of 
Virez ;  but  M.  Vilain,  though  a  very  amiable  man, 
silenced  me  at  once,  telling  me  that  I  must  say  nothing 
about  it  for  the  sake  of  the  child.  Bless  me  !  when 
a  cure  tells  you  such  things  of  course  you  keep  quiet, 
and  I  almost  shut  my  eyes  when  the  other  old  man 
came." 

"  And  was  this  person  the  one  who  gave  you  the 
crucifix  ?  " 

"  He  gave  it  to  me — no ;  he  was  commissioned  to 
send  it  to  you  by  another  person  who  had  just  died 
and  left  it  to  you." 

"  And  you  never  knew  who  that  person  was  ? " 

"  Never,  my  poor  child.  Yet  I  have  understood 
that  it  was  a  lady,  but  that  is  all.  You  see  it  wasn't 
worth  while  to  question  me,  it  is  useless.  God  sees 
all  things,  M.  le  cure,  and  what  he  does  is  well  done." 

"  You  are  right,  mere  Hilaire,  you  are  right,  we 
will  say  no  more  about  it." 


170  AROUND  A  SPRING. 


XXI. 

When  Noah  at  last  saw  the  sacred  dove  bearing 
the  consoling  olive-branch,  he  could  not  have  experi- 
enced a  sweeter  emotion  than  that  of  the  cure"  of 
Grand  Fort  when  he  saw  the  plains  growing  green 
once  more  under  the  first  smile  of  Spring.  The  snow 
had  disappeared,  the  grass  sprang  up  luxuriantly,  the 
swollen  streams  filled  the  land  with  their  music — 
people  felt  invigorated,  and  inhaled  the  air  with  ex- 
panded lungs. 

News  of  the  count  and  his  family  soon  arrived; 
they  had  sent  word  to  have  the  chateau  prepared  for 
their  reception,  and  the  intelligence  created  great  ex- 
citement in  the  village,  for  life  at  Grand-Fort-le-IIaut 
seemed  now  to  be  wholly  dependent  upon  Manteig- 
ney.  The  innkeeper  laid  in  a  stock  of  hitherto  un- 
heard-of liquors,  and  the  grocer  suddenly  decided  to 
have  his  shop  painted  bright  red. 

One  fine  morning  the  count's  steward  arrived,  fol- 
lowed in  a  few  hours  by  the  baggage,  and  two  days 
after  the  lords  of  the  manor  ma.de  an  almost  triumph- 
al entry.  Abb6  Roche  dared  not  go  and  meet  them 
like  the  majority  of  his  parishioners,  but  he  took  a 
position  from  which  he  could  see  the  carriage  pass. 
His  heart  throbbed  joyously, — he  was  no  longer  mas- 
ter of  himself.  She  was  there  —  she  had  returned. 
All  his  ugly  dreams  flew  swiftly  away,  and  he  felt  so 
happy  that  he  did  not  even  think  of  Larreau  and  the 
count  who  accompanied  the  countess.  The  following 
morning  he  did  not  resist  his  wishes,  but  went  up  to 
pay  a  visit  to  the  chateau.  He  was  received  with  the 
utmost  cordiality.  M.  Larreau,  who  was  as  active  as 
ever,  overwhelmed  him  with  questions.  Had  the 
winter1  been  very  severe  ?  Had  the  poor  people 
needed  bread,  or  the  cattle  forage  ?  The  countess 


ABOUND  A  SPRING.  171 

seemed  perfectly  happy,  and  the  griefs  of  last  autumn 
had  doubtless  vanished  entirely. 

"  My  dear  cure,"  said  she,  "  how  glad  I  am  to  see 
you  again !  It  seems  as  if  we  had  known  each  other 
for  ten  years.  And  you  have  not  been  frozen  ? 
Come,  move  your  arms.  All  winter  long  I  have 
been  asking  myself  the  question :  Is  Abbe"  Roche 
frozen  or  not  ?  " 

She  made  all  these  extravagant  speeches  with 
such  sprightliness  and  grace  that  ft  was  impossible  to 
help  smiling.  The  cure  was  then  informed  that  the 
count  would  remain  only  a  few  days  at  Manteigney, 
as  it  was  his  intention  to  set  out  very  soon  for  Tarbes, 
to  superintend  the  forwarding  of  several  horses  that 
he  had  purchased  there. 

In  fact,  a  very  short  time  after  his  arrival  M.  de 
Manteigney  resumed  his  journey,  and  the  countess 
was  left  alone  with  her  lather.  One  morning,  just 
after  breakfast,  she  was  walking  on  the  lawn,  seeking 
for  the  early  violets  hidden  in  the  grass,  when  some 
one  informed  her  that  pere  Loursiere  had  asked  to 
see  her.  As  he  had  insisted  upon  it,  even  when  told 
iluit  M.  Larreau  was  not  at  home  and  he  had  better 
return,  Mme.  de  Manteigney  gave  orders  that  he 
should  be  admitted.  At  the  first- glance  the  young 
wife  perceived  that  the  visit  of  this  disagreeable  per- 
sonage had  some  important  object.  He  advanced 
slowly,  bowing  humbly,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and 
did  not  carry  his  inseparable  basket,  which  gave  him 
a  peculiar  appearance. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  disturb  the  countess,"  he 
murmured  with  a  troubled  expression,  "and  indeed  I 
would  not  have  come  if  I  had  not  been  compelled — • 
one  might  say  compelled." 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me,  pere  Loursiere  ?  Go 
on,  I  am  listening."  To  the  great  surprise  of  the 
countess,  he  looked  cautiously  around  as  if  to  con- 
vince himself  that  there  were  no  curious  ears  within 


172  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

hearing, 'and  then  approaching  nearer,  said :  "  Did  you 
have  a  pleasant  journey,  Madame  ? —  As  true  as  the 
sun  is  shining  upon  us,  I  meant  to  speak  to  the  count ; 
but  I  am  told  that  he  is  away — I  am  very  sorry  for 
it,  for  I  shall  grieve  your  kind  heart,  Madame."  And 
he  uttered  two  portentous  sighs,  one  after  the  other. 

"  Well !  a  truce  to  your  regret,  pere  Loursiere, 
tell  me  at  once  what  troubles  you." 

"  It  gives  me  pain  to  say  it  on  account  of  the  re- 
spect I  feel  for  the  chateau ;  but  necessity — and  then 
duty.  Dear  me,  we  cannot  desert  our  children — it  is 
natural  to  have  a  father's  feelings." 

The  young  wife  suddenly  recollected  her  hus- 
band's intimacy  with  the  little  cheese  merchant,  and 
her  face  crimsoned.  Nothing  escaped  the  old  rascal ; 
he  cast  down  his  eyes,  and  continued  in  a  still  more 
dolorous  tone: 

"  In  spite  of  one's  respect  for —  In  short,  there 
are  some  things  too  hard  to  be  permitted  to  pass 
without  explanation — especially  wheli  people  are 
poor,  honest,  have  no  reason  to  reproach  themselves, 
and  have  always  lived  without  giving  cause  for  scan- 
dal— by  the  blessing  of  God."  His  manner  became 
more  bold  and  assured  as  the  countess's  agitation  in- 
creased. "  What-would  you  have  !  People  are  ac- 
customed to  be  obeyed,  to  meet  with  no  resistance. 
It  is  natural,  when  they  are  rich  and  of  noble  birth. 
Oh  !  yes,  of  noble  birth  !  then  people  think  that  every- 
thing belongs  to  them,  cattle  and  men,  plains,  forests, 
mountains,  everything — everything — even  the  young 
girls  of  the  country." 

"  Speak  more  plainly,  and  be  brief.  Whom  do 
you  reproach,  whom  do  you  accuse  ?  "  Unfortunate- 
ly the  young  wife's  voice  trembled  and  did  not  har- 
monize with  the  firmness  of  her  words.  The  other 
clasped  his  hands,  and  his  eyes  glistened. 

"Oh!  good  heavens !  I  accuse  the  count!  Mail- 
ame  knows  very  well  that  I  should  not  dare —  Is  not 


AROUND  A  SrRINO.  173 

the  count  master  here  ?  He  is  young,  and  likes  to 
amuse  himself.  There  is  no  harm  in  that ;  the  moun- 
tains are  not  gay,  and  we  are  far  from  the  city ;  then 
he  meets  a  young  girl  who  is  by  no  means  ugly.  Of 
course  the  count  did  not  mean  any  harm ;  the  injury 
was  done  afterwards.  But  I  see  that  Madame  is 
tired ;  I  did  not  intend  to  speak  to  her ;  I  will  come 
back  again  some  other  time,  when  I  can  see  her  fath- 
er, who  is  a  very  honorable  man.  Madame  has  only 
just  breakfasted,  and  poor  people's  troubles,  so  soon 
after  eating,  spoil  the  digestion." 

"  You  will  go  on  to  the  end  of  your  story,  al- 
though you  seem  to  delight  in  making  it  as  confused 
as  possible.  Has  the  count  betrayed  your  daughter  ? 
Is  that  what  you  mean  ?  " 

"  If  you  knew  that,  Madame,  you  must  also  be 
aware  of  the  poor  child's  situation." 

The  countess  started,  and  as  she  unconsciously 
made  a  gesture  expressive  of  the  disgust  with  which 
the  man's  manner  inspired  her,  he  continued  eagerly : 

"  Oh !  I  see  that  you  don't  believe  me,  but  fortu- 
nately the  whole  country  can  prove  that  the  child  has 
always  borne  a  good  character,  and  never  until  the 
count's  arrival—  I  thought  at  first  that  it  would  be  my 
death  blow  !  Oh,  God !  it  is  hard  that  a  father 
should  be  so  afflicted  at  my  time  of  life  ! "  He  was 
almost  weeping.  "  Oh,  yes  !  the  whole  country  will 
say  that  she  has  been  deceived.  How  was  she  to  op- 
pose a  count  ?  She  was  young,  weak,  and  knew 
nothing  of  the  world.  Ah !  all  will  admit  that  she 
loved  God." 

"  I  believe  what  you  tell  me  ;  there  is  no  need  of 
calling  the  whole  country  to  prove  it." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  thought/'  he  replied  in  a 
milder  tone,  "  that  is  what  I  thought ;  so  I  said  to  my- 
self: '  No  doubt  the  countess  would  prefer  to  have 
me  come  and  tell  her  of  this  accident,  before  it  is 
talked  over  in  the  valley  and  at  Virez.  Stories  are 


174  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

not  long  in  going  the  rounds  of  the  valley ;  I  never 
suspected  anything,  because  she  kept  the  secret  so 
bravely." 

"  Well !  what  do  you  ask  of  me  ?  " 

She  felt  that  she  was  turning  pale;  in  addition  to 
her  grief  in  being  reminded  of  the  faithlessness  of 
the  count,  whom  she  loved  in  spite  of  herself,  she  felt 
deeply  humiliated  on  finding  herself  confronted  with 
this  man  and  forced  to  accept  his  conditions.  She 
looked  Loursiere  steadily  in  the  face,  and,  convinced 
that  she  had  divined  his  motive,  said  : 

"  You  want  money,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  Good  heavens !  am  I  not  already  miserable 
enough?  Yet  they  wish  to  humble  me  still  more! 
Madame  knows  that  such  sorrows  cannot  be  paid 
for  —  A  young  girl's  reputation,  a  poor  man's  happi- 
ness !  "  Here  he  drew  the  sleeve  of  his  jacket  across 
his  eyes.  "  But  this  is  not  all :  when  you  can  barely 
earn  your  bread  by  the  hardest  toil,  how  is  another 
mouth  to  be  fed  ?  And  then  I  am  old  !  perhaps  you 
have  not  noticed  that  my  hands  are  beginning  to 
tremble,  and  my  hair  is  already  gray.  I  had  expected 
my  daughter  to  marry,  and  that  my  son-in-law  would 
come  and  live  with  us —  Alas !  the  son-in-law  is  far 
away  !  Who  will  marry  the  poor  girl  now  ?  " 

"  How  much  do  you  want,  tell  me  at  once  ?  " 

The  peasant's  face  changed  suddenly,  and  his 
eyes,  until  then  so  sad  and  tearful,  assumed  an  ex- 
pression of  peculiar  cunning. 

"  For  us  poor  mountaineers,"  said  he,  "  a  note  of — 
Ah  !  it  is  not  much  !  a  note  of — five  thousand  francs 
would  enable  us  to  live ;  it  is  something  to  depend 
upon,  to  keep  us  from  starving." 

Loursiere  had  his  reasons  for  asking  neither  more 
nor  less ;  he  claimed  a  sum  that  the  countess  might 
obtain  from  her  own  private  purse  without  being 
obliged  to  apply  to  her  husband  or  M.  Larreau,  who 
would  probably  have  sent  the  afflicted  father  away 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  17") 

with  a  note  for  five  hundred  francs  in  his  hand.  He 
had  relied  upon  the  young  wife's  emotion,  terror,  and 
ignorance  of  the  laws.  Proofs  were  almost  imposi- 
sible  to  furnish,  and  the  young  cheese  merchant  had 
not  been  famed  for  her  prudery.  Loursiere  therefore 
resolved  not  to  make  too  much  disturbance  about  the 
accident,  as  he  called  it,  not  wishing  to  get  into  any 
difficulty  with  M.  Larreau,  as  he  foresaw  the  import- 
ance of  keeping  on  good  terms  with  him  in  the  hope 
of  reaping  some  advantage. 

"  You  want  five  thousand  francs  ?  Very  well,  I 
will  see  what  is  to  be  done ;  you  can  go." 

He  raised  his  little  gray  eyes,  and  stroking  his  red 
beard  said :  "  If  Madame  thinks  that  I  have  time  to 
wait,  she  is  mistaken." 

"  Do  not  forget  to  whom  you  are  speaking,  and 
go  away." 

"  Oh !  that's  the  way  that  the  unfortunate  are 
treated.  We  are  ruined,  our  daughters  are  betrayed, 
and  people  even  refuse  to  pay  the  expenses !  Fortu- 
nately there  is  a  God  who  sees  all,  and  there  is  some 
justice  in  this  world." 

"  Have  I  told  you  that  I  would  not  pay  for  your 
silence  ?  I  must  have  time  to  reflect  before  giving 
what  you  ask,  that  is  all." 

"  Reflect !  It  seems  to  me  that  the  count  didn't 
take  much  time  to  reflect  when  he  betrayed  my  poor 
little  girl,  who  has  to  bear  her  misfortune  all  alone. 
Who  is  the  one  to  suffer,  the  count  or  my  daughter  ? 
And  suppose  she  should  die  like  her  poor  mother, 
would  Madame  still  wish  to  reflect  ?  And  what  is 
to  become  of  me  during  these  meditations,  with  no 
one  to  carry  my  cheeses,  or  bring  me  soup  when 
I  go  to  the  mountain  pastures  ?  To  whom  am  I  do- 
ing a  service  by  coming  quietly  in  this  way  to  ar- 
range the  affair  pleasantly,  when  anybody  else  in 
my  place  would  have  demanded  justice  with  loud 
outcries  ? " 


176  ABOUND  A  SPRING. 

Mme.  de  Manteigney  felt  that  her  patience  was 
becoming  exhausted. 

"  Don't  say  another  word,"  said  she,  "  you  will  be 
the  gainer,"  and  suddenly  turned  her  back  upon  him. 

Loursiere,  not  daring  to  follow  her,  slowly  put  his 
hat  on  and  went  back  by  the  way  he  came.  The 
truth  is,  that  although  the  countess  was  irritated  by 
the  words  of  this  wily  personage,  she  was  still  more 
terrified  at  thought  of  public  scandal.  She  had  been 
on  the  point  of  giving  him  the  money  he  demanded 
at  once,  and  putting  an  end  to  the  affair,  but  was 
ashamed  to  yield  to  such  threats;  besides,  there  was 
nothing  to  prove  that  he  spoke  the  truth.  Was  it 
not  a  mere  menace  of  Loursiere's  ?  Why  had  he 
chosen  a  time  when  she  was  alone  in  the  castle  ? 
Why  not  wait  until  the  count's  return,  instead  of  ad- 
dressing himself  to  her?  If  on  the  other  hand  he 
had  spoken  the  truth, and  the  poor  child,  who  was  af- 
ter all  only  partly  to  blame,  was  really  ill,  suppose 
her  father,  enraged  at  not  obtaining  what  he  desired, 
should  carry  his  threats  into  execution  ? 

It  seemed  to  her  that  the  wisest  course  would  be 
to  go  and  ascertain  the  truth.  She  could  take  the 
money,  and  if  Loursiere  had  not  deceived  her,  would 
buy  his  silence  as  he  demanded.  His  hut  Avas  not 
more  than  a  league  distant.  Although  the  roads  were 
bad,  she  would  pretend  that  she  wished  to  take  a 
walk  and  execute  her  project  without  attracting  any 
one's  attention. 

After  forming  this  resolution  she  grew  somewhat 
calmer,  and  in  her  heart  even  felt  an  emotion  of  joy 
in  imposing  this  sacrifice  upon  herself  through  love 
for  her  husband,  in  defending  him,  aiding  him,  and 
conquering  his  dislike.  But  there  was  one  thing  that 
aroused  her  anxiety.  It  was  absolutely  necessary  to 
have  a  guide,  for  she  did  not  know  the  way;  she  had 
seen  the  rugged  paths  that  led  to  his  abode  too  often 
to  dare  to  venture  into  them  alone,  and  the  bare  idea 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  Ill 

of  going  to  this  monster's  lair  unprotected,  made  her 
shudder  from  head  to  foot. 

She  was  thinking  of  this  the  following  morning 
when  a  ragged  child  was  brought  in  who  asked  to  see 
her  without  delay.  As  soon  as  the  little  savage  was 
left  alone  with  the  countess,  he  awkwardly  pulled  off 
his  dirty  cap,  drew  out  a  folded  bit  of  paper  perfectly 
disgusting  to  the  sight,  and,  without '  saying  a  word, 
handed  it  to  Madame  de  Manteigney,  who  opened  it 
instantly  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers. 

The  note  contained  these  few  words : 

"  Answer  me  at  once.  There  is  no  time  to  wait ; 
it  will  be  too  late  to-morrow." 

"  Who  gave  you  this  paper,  little  one  ? "  asked 
the  countess,  advancing  so  hastily  that  the  terrified 
child  retreated  two  or  three  paces,  "  who  gave  it  to 
you  ? " 

"  It  was — it  was  Loursiere,  who  told  me  to  carry  it 
to  the  lady  of  Manteigney." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  answer." 

Doubt  was  no  longer  possible,  she  must  form, 
some  resolution,  Loursiere  had  told  the  truth  about 
his  daughter.  Mme.  de  Manteigney  reflected  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  went  hastily  to  the  curb's  dwelling. 
Her  face  had  doubtless  retained  some  trace  of  her 
emotion,  for  the  priest  exclaimed  as  she  entered  : 

"'  Good  heavens  !  what  brings  you  here  ?  what  is 
the  matter  now,  poor  wife  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  service  to  ask  which  no  one  but  you 
can  render ;  will  you  pi'oraise  to  do  it  ?  Let  me  sit 
down,  I  have  walked  so  fast." 

"  What  do  you  wish,  Madame  ?  I  am  listening, 
and  if  what  you  ask  is  possible,  be  assured — 

"  Oh  !  do  not  speak  so,  I  implore  you.  I  am  anx- 
ious, wretched,  you  can  see  that  plainly.  It  will  cost 
me  terribly  dear  to  carry  out  the  plan  I  have  formed, 
and  if  you  do  not  encourage  me  by  a  little  kindness, 
I  shall  not  dare  to  venture  farther — I  can  rely  upon 
12 


178  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

no  one  but  yon,  my  friend.     You  must — you 
accompany  me  this  evening,  I  am  obliged  to  take  a 
walk  up  among  the  pine  trees." 

"  With  your  father  ? "  asked  the  priest  anx- 
iously. 

"*N"o,  indeed  !  If  I  could  let  any  one  but  you  into 
the  secret  of  this  visit,  should  I  come  in  search  of  you, 
make  demands  upon  your  time,  your  kindness,  your — 
charity  ?  " 

"  Why  not  make  the  visit  in  broad  daylight  ?  It 
would  be  much  better." 

"  Why,  why  ?  Because  I  don't  want  to  meet  any 
one  on  the  way  ;  it  must  not  be  known." 

"  Good   heavens  !  but — " 

"  I  am  going  to  see  Loursiere's  daughter ;  there,  are 
you  satisfied  ?  " 

"  Loursiere's  daughter — ! " 

There  was  a  world  of  meaning  in  the  simple  words. 
The  countess  rose,  and  continued  in  a  lower  tone, 
which  revealed  the  approach  of  tears: 

"Pardon  me;  I  see  that  lam  mistaken,  I  have 
been  imprudent,  I  deceived  myself,  let  us  say  no  more 
about  it.  Tell  me  of  some  peasant,  some  steady, 
discreet  man,  who  can  guide  me,  and  I  will  leave  you. 
I  had  thought  that  after  giving  you  proofs  of  the 
most  perfect  confidence,  I  could  rely  upon  your  re- 
gard, and  did  not  even  think  that  I  might  compromise 
you;  you  are  doubtless  afraid — " 

"  I  will  go,  I  will  guide  you  wherever  you  desire. 
Compromise  me !  I  afraid  ! '  He  drew  himself  up 
suddenly  :  "  Afraid  of  whom,  afraid  of  what,  except 
of  not  doing  my  duty  ?  " 

"  I  should  have  explained  everything  to  you,  but 
I  wished  to  have  your  promise  first ;  it  would  have 
done  me  so  much  good.  This  is  the  rest  of  the  story ; 
nothing  is  more  simple  ;  unfortunately — " 

"I  do  not  wish  you  to  explain,  since  my  questions 
have  made  you  suspect  me.  I  do  not  desire  it,  at 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  179 

least  not  now.  I  trust  you,  do  not  deprive  me  of  the 
pleasure  of  serving  you  blindly." 

"  How  good  and  noble  you  are,  and  how  I  love 
you  for  it !  " 

"  Enough,  enough  !     When  do  you  wish  to  start  ?  " 

"  This  evening,  as  soon  as  it  is  dark.  It  will  take 
about  two  hours  to  go  and  return,  will  it  not  ? " 

"  Two  hours  of  very  rapid  walking ;  but  you  cannot 
take  two  hundred  steps  on  those,  paths,  piled  with 
sharp,  rough  stones.  You  must  have  a  donkey,  then 
we  might  go  by  a  circuitous  way,  and  meet  no  one." 

"  I  trust  the  matter  entirely  to  you.  Isn't  it  diffi- 
cult to  obtain  a  donkey  ?  " 

"  I  will  do  my  best."  After  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion, he  continued  : — "  This  evening,  at  eight  o'clock, 
you  will  take  the  path  that  leads  from  the  castle 
bridge." 

"  Just  at  that  hour  all  the  servants  are  at  dinner, 
and  I  can  dismiss  my  maid." 

"  You  will  walk  along  the  path  for  about  a  hun- 
dred paces." 

"  I  shall  be  afraid,  alone  at  night — " 

"  Do  not  be  anxious,  I  will  wait  for_you  ;  then  we 
can  take  the  right  hand,  turning  into  the  old  road  by 
the  saw-mill,  which  is  very  easy,  and  on  reaching  the 
woods,  where  we  shall  be  obliged  to  follow  the  bed 
of  the  stream,  and  walk  over  the  stones,  we  will  find 
a  donkey  to  carry  you." 

"  Are  you  sure  to  find  one  there." 

"Do  not  be  uneasy,  I  will  fasten  it  myself  just  at 
the  edge  of  the  woods.  The  place  is  very  lonely, 
and  I  shall  not  be  observed.  I  will  neglect  noth- 
ing. If  I  have  done  wrong  in  taking  this  course, 
God,  who  reads  all  hearts,  will  doubtless  forgive  me 
for  it." 

"  Why  should  you  wish  God  to  pardon  you  ? 
Are  you  not  the  best  and  most  self-sacrificing  of 
men  ?  Eight  o'clock,  you  told  me.  Eight  o'clock," 


180  AROUND  A  SPE1NO. 

she  added  in  a  low  tone — "  how  late  it  is;  suppose  he 
should  think  I  did  not  mean  to  answer  ?  " 

"  What  did  you  say  V  " 

"  Nothing.  This  evening,  at  eight  o'clock — the 
path  leading  from  the  bridge  ?  Oh,  I  know  it.  Thank 
you,  M.  le  cure,  thank  you,  with  all  my  heart !  " 

She  pronounced  the  words  thank  you  with  such 
an  expression  of  gratitude  that  Abb6  Roche,  much 
agitated,  could  find  no  words  to  reply. 

"  Why  should  she  thank  me  so  earnestly?  "  said 
he  to  himself. 

"  It  ought  to  appear  a  very  simple  matter,  and 
she  cannot  guess  what  it  costs  me  to  render  her  this 
service."  He  had  indeed  struggled  violently  with 
himself.  He  was  terrified  at  the  thought  of  being 
alone  with  her  at  night,  in  solitary  places ;  but  he 
feared  still  more  that  she  might  consider  him  a  selfish 
being,  capable  of  bargaining  over  his  services  and 
recoiling  before  a  difficulty. 


XXII. 

"  Is  it  you,  Monsieur  le  cure  ? " 

Eight  o'clock  had  struck  long  before ;  the  dark- 
ness was  intense,  and  the  wind,  sighing  through  the 
trees,  made  a  noise  that  drowned  the  voice.  Yet  she 
could  not  speak  louder,  poor  woman  !  She  was  trem- 
bling from  head  to  foot,  stopped  at  every  step,  think- 
ing that  she  discerned  the  dark  outline  of  the  priest, 
and  repeated  more  and  more  timidly  :  "  Monsieur  le 
cure — answer,  is  it  you  ?  " 

Had  she  not  mistaken  the  path.  It  seemed  as  if 
she  had  been  walking  for  a  century,  and  she  was 
beginning  to  yield  to  her  terror,  when  something 
black  moved  in  the  darkness  about  ten  paces  before 
her,  and  she  heard  the  words: 

"  Come,  Madame,  do  not  be  afraid ;  I  am  here." 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  181 

"  At  last !  "  she  murmured.  "  I  have  kept  you 
waiting,  but  indeed  it  was  not  my  fault.  I  did  not 
wish  to  start  until  the  servants  had  gone  to  dinner, 
and  then  I  could  not  open  the  little  door  that  leads 
to  the  lawn.  I  am  trembling  now.  I  was  so  fright- 
ened while  walking  along  that  horrible  road  !  Oh  ! 
now,  I  feel  safe  once  more.  Let  us  hasten  on ;  it  is 
very  late,  and  I  am  expected,  at  least,  I  hope  I  aai 
still  expected." 

Abb6  Roche,  standing  at  some  little  distance,  re- 
plied, "Yes,  yes,  let  us  walk  on  as  fast  as  possible, 
Madame !  We  are  near  the  cottages,  and  might  meet 
some  one,  we  must  be  quick." 

"  I  am  coming  as  fast  as  I  can,  my  dear  cur6, 
I  am  coming  as  fast  as  I  can ;  but  I  can't  see  very 
distinctly,  the  road  is  rough,  aud  I  am  a  little  fright- 
ened." 

She  instinctively  approached  nearer  him,  although 
he  as  instinctively  recoiled.  "  Take  courage,  Madame, 
we  shall  soon  reach  the  woods.  Would  you  like  my 
cane  to  help  you  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  yes.     Dear  me,  IIOAV  heavy  it  is  !  " 

Abbe  Roche  suddenly  felt  his  cassock  pulled, 
and  turning,  saw  the  countess  standing  motionless, 
with  her  head  bent  forward,  pointing  at  something. 
"  What  is  that,  look,  there,  there  ?"  she  murmured, 
drawing  so  near  the  cure  that  her  silken  robes  brush- 
ed against  him. 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,  it  is  only  the  trunk  of  a  chest- 
nut tree." 

"  A  chestnut  tree — are  you  sure  ?  Oh  !  dear,  it 
is  frightful,  it  seems  as  if  it  were  staring  at  us.  Let 
us  turn  to  the  left,  won't  you  ? " 

''  Certainly,  Madame  ;  calm  yourself,  it  is  nothing 
but  a  chestnut  tree." 

"  I  believe  you  ;  but  no  matter,  let  us  turn  to  the 
left." 

The    young  wife  had  not   relinquished  her  hold 


AROUND  A  SPRING. 

upon  the  priest's  cassock.  In  spite  of  her  efforts  to 
appear  calm,  she  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  her  com- 
panion, walking  close  upon  his  heels,  and  often,  when 
a  stone  made  her  stumble,  even  clinging  to  his  arm 
as  a  drowning  man  clutches  a  branch. 

Abb£  Roche's  brain  was  in  a  whirl ;  yet  he  could 
not  say  :  "  Release  me,  Madame."  He  could  have 
endured  the  delightful  but  dangerous  companionship 
in  broad  daylight,  under  the  brilliant  rays  of  the  sun, 
but  in  this  darkness,  which,  wrapping  them  both  in 
the  same  veil,  produced  a  strange  feeling  of  mutual 
confidence,  they  spoke  in  low,  mysterious  whispers ; 
the  dread  of  discovery  drew  them  together,  and  the 
priest,  to  dispel  the  agitation  which  was  destroying 
his  self-control,  murmured  all  the  prayers  that  he 
could  recollect  with  the  energy  of  a  martyr.  At  last 
they  reached  a  spot  where  the  paths  crossed.  "  We 
can  light  the  lantern  now,"  said  he,  "  let  us  stop  a 
moment." 

"  Oh  !  how  glad  I  am  !  I  was  almost  frightened  to 
death ! " 

Abb6  Roche  drew  from  his  pocket  a  small  dark 
lantern  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  using  when  he 
went  out  in  the  evening,  lighted  the  candle,  and  then 
partially  closed  the  two  doors,  leaving  only  a  narrow 
ray  of  light  to  shine  upon  the  path. 

The  country  became  more  and  more  lonely,  and 
they  began  to  distinguish  the  sound  of  the  great  wa- 
terfall ;  while  on  either  side  rocks  protruded  from 
the  ground  amidst  the  grass  and  shrubs.  "  Do  you 
see  the  wood  yonder,  Madame  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can  distinguish  nothing  but  a  black  mass." 

"  That  is  the  very  spot,  and  the  fatiguing  part  of 
your  journey  is  now  over.  I  fastened  the  donkey 
there,  and  the  remainder  of  the  road  is  easy." 

"  Well,  it  is  quite  time.  I  don't  think  I  could 
have  walked  ten  paces  farther.  I  feel  as  if  I  should 
be  more  composed  when  I  am  once  on  the  donkey's 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  183 

back,  and  then  I  will  tell  you  why  we  are  going  to 
visit  the  horrible  man  who  lives  up  yonder." 

On  reaching  the  edge  of  the  little  wood,  the  abbe" 
stopped,  and  giving  the  lantern  to  the  countess,  said : 
"  Wait  for  me  a  moment,  Madame,  while  I  go  for 
your  donkey.  He  is  close  at  hand,  don't  you  hear 
him  stamping  ?  " 

"  I  shall  never  be  able  to  stay  here  alone." 
"  I  entreat  you  to  do  so.     You  see  I  must  climb 
this  slope,  you  could  not  ascend  it,  and  we  should 
only  lose  time." 

"  Then  come  back  as  soon  as  you  can." 
She  wrapped  herself  resignedly  in  the  gray  opera- 
cloak  she  had  donned  for  the  evening  journey.  Oough 
occasionally,  to  encourage  me,  M.  le  cure,  so  that  I 
can  at  least  know  you  are  there." 

When  he  had  moved  away  three  paces,  he  wiped 
the  perspiration  from  his  brow.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  felt  the  delightful  emotion  a  man  ex- 
periences in  protecting  a  woman.  Now  that  he  was 
at  some  little  distance  from  the  charming  danger,  he 
regained  his  self-control,  struggled  less  vehemently 
with  his  emotion,  and  while  parting  the  branches  to 
enter  the  thicket,  said  to  himself : 

"  She  depends  wholly  upon  me,  she  is  impatiently 
expecting  me."  He  remembered  all  the  timid,  anx- 
ious little  phrases  that  she  had  just  whispered,  bend- 
ing towards  him.  He  thought  of  the  happiness  of  a 
man  to  whom  God  entrusts  the  fate  of  such  a  crea- 
ture, shrinking  yet  earnest,  courageous  though  timid, 
only  asking  to  be  directed,  beloved,  cheered,  and  in 
return  gives  herself  wholly — 

A  little  discreet  hetu  warned  him  to  hasten.  He 
coughed  in  reply,  and  soon  emerged  from  the  thicket 
leading  the  donkey  by  the  bridle. 

It  was  a  very  quiet  animal,  furnished  with  the 
huge  pack-saddles  on  which  the  peasant  women  sit 
with  their  baskets,  their  milk,  and  sometimes  their 


184  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

children.     "  I  took  what  I  could  find,"  said  he  in  a 
low  tone. 

As  he  spoke,  he  arranged  his  heavy  cloak, 
doubled  four  times  upon  the  saddle,  fastening  it  with 
the  girths.  "  All  is  ready,  will  you  mount  ?  " 

He  saw  very  plainly  that  it  was  a  difficult  matter, 
but  what  more  could  he  say  or  do  ? 

The  poor  lady  tried  her  best ;  clasping  the  saddle 
firmly  with  both  little  hands,  and  summoning  all  her 
strength,  she  endeavored  to  spring  up.  Alas !  the 
effort  was  vain.  She  tried  two  or  three  times,  biting 
her  lips  with  anger,  and  murmuring  words  drowned 
by  the  roar  of  the  wind.  "  I  can't  do  it,  I  assure  you 
I  can't,  my  dear  cure","  she  said  at  last.  "  Oh,  dear  ! 
oh,  dear  !  and  how  fast  the  time  is  passing.  Please 
lift  me,  I  am  not  heavy,  and  you  can  do  it  in  an  in- 
stant." 

He  had  thought  of  it,  still  thought  of  it,  but  dared 
not.  A  few  moments'  reflection  would  have  been 
necessary  to  enable  him  to  decide  upon  such  a  course. 
The  difficulty  was  not  in  the  action  itself,  but  in  per- 
forming it  calmly,  without  losing  his  self-control.  In 
Abbe  Roche's  state  of  mind  it  required  absolute  he- 
roism to  accomplish  such  a  result.  "  I  assure  you  I 
am  not  heavy,"  she  continued.  "  No  one  will  see  you, 
M.  le  cur6,  there  is  no  harm  in  it.  It  must  be  done 
at  last.  All  things  are  fair  in  war  ! — and  it  is  so  late  !  " 

Abbe  Roche  was  suddenly  endowed  with  singular 
courage.  His  hesitation  and  fear  vanished,  and  taking 
the  young  wife  in  his  arms,  while  she  laid  her  head 
on  his  shoulder,  he  lifted  her  from  the  ground  like  a 
child;  but  when  he  held  her  pressed  against  his 
breast,  heard  her  satin  cloak  rustle  under  his  grasp, 
and  felt  the  warm,  sweet  breath  of  the  countess,  who 
was  leaning  on  him,  the  poor  man  lost  his  self-com- 
mand, the  world  of  reality  disappeared.  He  held 
her,  clasped  her  in  his  arms,  lost  all  consciousness  of 
aught  else,  surrendered  every  other  thought  so  utterly 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  185 

that,  when  he  had  placed  her  in  the  saddle,  no  longer 
realizing  what  he  was  doing,  and  still  carried  away 
by  his  feelings,  he  covered  her  hands  with  kisses,  sob- 
bing like  a  child. 

Mine,  de  Manteigney  pushed  him  back,  and  invol- 
untarily uttered  two  little  cries,  a  pardonable  impru- 
dence, certainly.  Yet  there  must  have  been  a  very 
singular  echo  near  by,  for  a  third  exclamation,  almost 
exactly  like  her  own,  at  once  replied. 

Abb6  Roche  felt  like  a  man  who,  while  burning 
with  fever,  is  plunged  into  an  icy  bath  without  the 
slightest  warning.  The  countess  hastily  opened  the 
lantern  she  still  held  in  her  hand,  threw  the  rays  to- 
wards the  spot  whence  the  sound  proceeded,  and  to 
her  extreme  terror  saw  among  the  bushes,  about  fif- 
teen paces  distant,  two  shining  eyes  fixed  upon  her. 
Were  they  those  of  a  wolf  or  some  other  wild  animal  ? 
She  was  notlong  in  uncertainty.  The  child,  who  had 
been  crouching  among  the  brambles  gazing  at  her, 
rose  slowly,  with  every  outward  sign  of  the  most  ex- 
treme terror,  and  advanced  a  pace  or  two,  repeatedly 
making  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

She  tried  to  speak,  but  was  too  much  agitated  to 
utter  a  word.  Besides,  the  thought  occurred  to  her 
that  her  voice  might  be  recognized ;  and  as  the  child 
still  advanced,  she  ordered  him  back  with  a  hasty 
gesture,  and  suddenly  closed  the  lantern.  All  this 
had  taken  place  in  much  less  time  than  I  have  related 
it.  Doubtless  the  countess's  gesture  was  instantly 
obeyed,  for  the  little  mountaineer  was  heard  running 
wildly,  at  full  speed,  down  the  steep  path  that  passes 
the  ruins  of  the  old  saw-mill,  and  leads  into  the  valley. 
The  young  wife  and  Abbe  Roche  stood  motion- 
less with  horror.  Both  listened  earnestly,  and  the 
wind  having  died  away,  they  heard  in  the  profound 
silence  of  the  night  the  noise  of  the  stones  rattling 
loudly  down,  and  the  dogs  barking  in  the  distance 
Mme.  de  Manteigney,  who,  in  the  moment  of  danger, 


AROUND  A  SPRING. 

had  summoned  all  her  energies,  lost  her  strength 
when  assured  that  the  child  had  disappeared,  and  be- 
gan to  tremble  like  a  leaf.  The  priest,  too,  was 
greatly  agitated.  In  his  own  eyes  he  had  committed 
a  sin.  It  Avas  shameful.  And  he  had  been  surprised, 
recognized.  Was  it  not  an  act  of  divine  justice  ? 
Suppose  the  whole  village  had  been  there !  lie 
would  have  deserved  the  disgrace  of  such  a  punish- 
ment. In  a  single  instant  he  had  sullied  thirty  years 
of  a  pure  and  honorable  life.  He  dared  not  even  ask 
God's  pardon. 

"  Chastise  the  unworthy  priest,  O  Lord  !  Crush 
him  in  Thine  anger,"  said  he  to  himself,  and  he  was 
deeply  in  earnest;  "chastise  the  proud  fool,  who 
thought  to  aid  with  his  counsels,  to  save  the  wander- 
ers of  this  world,  when  far  more  guilty  than  they." 
Yet  he  trembled  at  the  thought  of  meeting  the  count- 
ess's eyes,  hung  his  head,  and  sought  for  fitting  words 
to  humiliate  himself  before  this  angel,  who  was  a 
thousand  times  more  pure,  since  he  had  insulted  her. 
The  poor  wife's  indignation  and  scorn,  restrained  for 
an  instant  by  their  very  depth,  would  soon  burst 
forth  in  withering  language.  He  accepted  all  before 
it  was  uttered ;  but  contrary  to  his  expectations,  he 
felt  a  light  touch  on  his  shoulder  and  heard  a  faint, 
trembling  voice,  whispering  in  his  ear :  "  I  implore 
you  to  take  me  back  to  the  castle,  my  dear  cure, 
quick,  quick,  or  I  shall  die  of  fear — " 

Not  a  word  of  the  guilty  kiss,  the  insulting  em- 
brace. The  truth  Avas,  the  countess  had,  for  the 
moment,  forgotten  it  in  her  fright.  "  Let's  make 
haste,"  she  continued,  "I  am  frozen,  my  teeth  are 
chattering,  I  cannot  stay  here  an  instant  longer." 
The  priest  touched  the  donkey  with  his  heaA*y  cane, 
and  they  rapidly  descended  the  path.  "  Oh !  dear, 
oh !  dear,"  murmured  the  countess,  "  that  terrible 
Loursiere,  what  Avill  he  think,  Avhat  Avill  he  do,  if  I 
don't  go  ?  Bring  a  complaint,  rouse  the  whole  coun- 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  187 

try,  he  is  capable  of  anything !  Go  to  him,  this  even- 
ing, this  very  instant,  I  implore  vou,  go  to  him,  save 
the  count's  honor  and  mine  afso — you  understand 
the  rest.  No  one  must  know  of  the  affair,  and  that 
horrible  man  threatens  to  tell  everything  if  he  does 
not  receive  the  five  thousand  francs  from  me  this 
evening.  You  see,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  for  you 
to  go ;  I  could  not,  I  should  fall  down  by  the  way. 
You  will  not  refuse  me,  tell  me  ?  Say  that  you  do 
not  refuse  me  ?  " 

Abbe  Roche  clasped  his  hands,  while  tears  flowed 
from  his  eyes,  tears  of  gratitude  and  admiration.  He 
would  gladly  have  thrown  himself  at  the  feet  of  this 
noble  woman,  who  feigned  that  she  did  not  remember 
the  deadly  outrage,  the  infamous  treachery  of  which 
she  had  been  the  victim,  but  still  condescended  to 
entreat,  when  the  most  imperious  commands  would 
have  been  too  indulgent.  "  I  will  go,  Madame,  I 
will  go,"  he  murmured. 

He  regretted  from  the  depths  of  his  heart  that  he 
could  not  have  given  his  life  to  make  amends  for  his 
sin. 

Meantime  the  donkey,  urged  rapidly  down  the 
sloping  path,  moved  quickly  on,  and  the  countess 
soon  found  herself  before  the  little  door  opening  on 
the  lawn  by  which  she  had  left  the  chateau.  She 
took  the  key,  put  it  in  the  lock,  and  turning  towards 
the  priest,  exclaimed:  "You  will  save  us,  will  you 
not  ?  Go  quickly,  M.  le  cure.  Here  are  the  five 
notes — go  at  once." 

The  Abb6  fastened  the  donkey  to  the  nearest 
branch,  put  on  his  cloak,  and  clenching  his  heavy  cane 
in  his  hand,  rushed — the  word  is  a  correct  one — 
towards  pere  Loursiere's  dwelling.  It  would  not  have 
been  prudent  to  stop  him  on  the  way.  The  man,  but 
lately  so  humble,  walking  with  drooping  head  beside 
the  young  wife,  before  whom  he  would  willingly  have 
knelt,  now  advanced  boldly,  with  dilated  nostrils. 


188  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

The  energy  of  his  movements,  the  night  wind  blow- 
ing in  his  face,  aroused  new  emotions  within  him. 

It  was  no  longer  horror  of  his  sin  that  occupied 
his  thoughts,  but  the  memory  of  that  one  moment's 
intoxication  which  made  him  shiver.  Again  he  clasped 
her  in  his  arms,  to  his  heart,  only  far  more  violently, 
with  almost  suffocating  strength.  His  blood  boiled, 
his  limbs  became  stronger  and  more  pliant,  his  brain 
clearer.  For  one  instant  he  had  lived  and  loved,  he 
had  absorbed  the  poison  of  a  single  arrow,  and  expe- 
rienced a  strange  joy  as  he  felt  the  terrible  yet  deli- 
cious venom  flowing  through  his  veins,  and  invading 
his  whole  frame.  He  remembered  that  he  was  most 
wretched,  gnashed  his  teeth,  would  have  liked  to  fall 
prostrate  in  the  dust,  and  yet  he  was  triumphant : 
he  seemed  to  hear  a  celestial  harmony,  in  the  midst 
of  which  an  awful  voice  cried  :  "  Thou  art  accursed  !  " 
Heaven  and  hell  were  both  half  open  to  receive  him, 
and  he  held  out  his  arms  to  embrace  the  world  and 
fasten  himself  to  it. 

While  all  these  thoughts  were  whirling  through 
his  brain  he  was  climbing  among  the  rocks  and 
brambles,  taking  the  shortest  way;  he  moved  with  a 
sort  of  frenzy,  like  a  soldier  in  the  vanguard  that  is 
rushing  to  the  assault.  His  pace  was  so  rapid  that, 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  later,  he  found  himself  be- 
fore the  hut  occupied  by  Loursiere,  and  stopped  to 
wipe  the  perspiration  from  his  brow. 

A  reddish  light  shone  from  under  the  door,  and 
as  he  approached,  he  heard  groans  from  within, 
that  recalled  him  to  reality.  He  knocked ;  pere 
Loursiere,  armed  with  a  candle  end,  opened  the  door. 
"  Ah !  is  it  you,  M.  le  cure,"  said  the  peasant,  raising 
his  huge  fur  cap,  "  come  in,  you  are  late !  The  poor 
little  thing  is  very  ill,  M.  le  cure',  very  ill." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it ;  but  before  I  enter,  while  we  are 
alone,  I  have  something  to  give  you  from  a  person — " 

"  Ok !  the  kind  lady  ! » 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  189 

"  Do  not  utter  her  name,  it  is  unnecessary.  I  am 
to  give  you  this  little  packet.  I  will  say  nothing 
now  about  what  I  think  of  your  conduct,  your  shame- 
ful threats ;  God  sees  all  things,  pere  Loursiere." 

"  Oh !  the  dear  lady,  oh  !  the  dear  soul !  Threats  ? 
I,  threats  ?  Can  she  believe  that  I  intended  to  threat- 
en her!  Threats  of  what,  my  dear  M.  le  cure? 
What  can  a  poor  man  like  me  do  ?  Proofs  must  be 
had  before  we  can  threaten  !  A  misfortune  has  fallen 
upon  us,  that  is  all  we  can  say,  and  the  kind  lady 
wishes  to  help  us  bear  it.  I  was  very  sure  that  she 
would  not  abandon  us." 

While  speaking,  he  opened  the  packet  (rather 
awkwardly,  on  account  of  the  candle  that  was  in  his 
way)  and  counted  the  bank-notes. 

"  This  is  not  all,"  said  the  cur6,  advancing  a  pace 
or  two. 

"  Ah  !  you  would  like  a  receipt  ?  The  affair  is 
not  pleasant  to  talk  about,  and  naturally — " 

"  I  was  not  commissioned  to  ask  for  any.  I  wish 
to  see  your  daughter,  that  is  all." 

"  It  is  much  better  so  for  every  one.  Come  in, 
M.  le  cure,"  and  his  voice  suddenly  changed  its  tone  : 
"  Alas !  poor  child  !  she  appears  to  be  about  to  enter 
the  other  world.  When  I  look  at  her,  it  seems  as  if 
I  saw  her  dead  mother  again.  It  is  very  hard  for  me, 
M.  le  cure,  at  my  age — " 

The  miserable  hut  had  a  sinister  aspect,  and  the 
air  was  heavy  and  dense.  From  the  ceiling,  formed 
of  broad,  roughly  jointed  boards,  hung  tits  of  straw 
and  hay,  handfuls  of  dried  herbs,  strings  of  onions, 
and  numbers  of  other  things  that  could  scarcely  be 
distinguished  in'  the  obscurity.  The  floor  was  black 
and  dirty,  and  on  an  old  chest,  one  of  whose  feet  was 
replaced  by  the  fragments  of  a  broken  pot,  were 
piled  the  tin  boxes,  with  rows  of  holes,  in  which  the 
cheeses  were  made.  There  was  an  indistinguishable 
heap  of  rags,  baskets,  branches,  and  even  whole 


190  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

trunks  of  fir  trees  in  the  room,  and  at  the  back  of 
this  den,  near  a  worm-eaten  staircase  leading  to  the 
garret,  the  poor  girl  lay  motionless,  stretched  on  a 
miserable  pallet,  amidst  shapeless,  colorless  rags. 

As  the  cure  approached,  a  tall  thin  man,  no  other 
than  the  village  doctor,  rose,  lifted  his  cap,  and  ad- 
vanced to  meet  the  priest,  saying  : 

"  Good-evening,  Monsieur  le  cure",  you  see  it  is  all 
over  with  the  poor  child,  which  is  no  great  matter  of 
surprise  to  me  ;  her  mother  died  in  the  same  way.  I 
had  expected  it !  When  girls  have  the  evil  spirit  in 
them,  yon  know,  M.  le  cur6 — •  There  are  half  a 
dozen  in  the  village  just  like  her." 

"  You  are  sure  that  there  is  no  hope  ?  " 

"  Oh,  perfectly.  I  was  called  too  late ;  the  child 
is  a  very  fine  one.  Just  look  at  this  boy." 

The  physician  drew  aside  some  rags,  and  the 
priest  beheld  a  tiny,  restless  little  mortal,  lying  on  a 
mattress  close  beside  its  dying  mother.  One  would 
almost  have  thought  that  life  was  passing  from  one 
to  the  other,  and  the  poor  girl's  last  sigh  would  be- 
come the  first  cry  of  the  new-born  infant. 

Abbe  Roche  approached  the  expiring  girl.  She 
was  already  unconscious,  and  her  face  had  assumed  a 
yellow  hue  that  resembled  waxen  tapers.  The  sunk- 
en nostrils  scarcely  quivered,  her  cheeks  were  hollow, 
her  cold  hands  lay  motionless  on  the  bed,  and  when 
she  opened  her  large  black  eyes,  they  had  the  pecu- 
liar expression  of  the  dying,  who  seem  to  be  search- 
ing their  own  hearts. 

The  priest  bent  over  her :  "  Do  you  know  me, 
my  child,  do  you  hear  me  ?  " 

Thinking  that,  notwithstanding  her  silence,  she 
might  perhaps  understand  his  question  without  being 
able  to  reply,  he  spoke  to  her  of  pardon,  of  the  good- 
ness of  God,  who  reads  all  hearts.  "  Repent,  my 
child,  think  that  the  hour  is  approaching,  when — " 
"  She  does  not  hear  you,  my  dear  M.  le  cure,"  said 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  191 

the  doctor  approaching  him ;  "  do  you  not  see  that 
she  is  dead?" 

Then  turning  towards  pere  Loursiere,  who  had 
removed  his  huge  cap  and  was  looking  at  the  corpse 
with  his  little  eyes  full  of  tears,  he  added :  "  Come, 
take  courage,  old  man !  this  death  was  inevitable ; 
you  should  have  watched.  You  must  bear  this.  I 
am  going  home  and  will  send  you  one  of  the  sisters 
from  the  hospital;  you  can't  stay  here  alone.  And 
now,  what  are  we  to  do  with  this  child  ?  " 

The  cure,  who  had  been  kneeling  in  prayer,  rose 
hastily :  "  He  must  first  be  made  a  Christian,  doc- 
tor." ' 

And  pere  Loursiere,  having  brought  the  water, 
the  priest  baptized  the  child.  His  hand  trembled,  for 
the  recollection  of  his  own  sin  returned  to  him,  and 
he  asked  himself  whether  God  would  accept  the  con- 
secration. 

"  This  is  certainly  a  sad  thing,  my  dear  M.  le 
cure,"  observed  the  doctor,  before  taking  his  depar- 
ture ;  "  but  Avhat  can  be  done  about  it  ?  Such  things 
have  occurred  ever  since  the  world  was  made.  The 
child  remains  and  is  likely  to  live,  so  the  most  pres- 
sing necessity  is  to  return  to  him.  These  poor  little 
creatures,  fallen  from  nobody  knows  where,  have  been 
known  to  make  their  way  in  the  world  and  find  a 
place  for  themselves.  Don't  you  know  of  some  nurse 
in  Grand-Fort-le-Haut,  M.  le  cur<§  ?  " 

"No,  I  do  not;  but  one  must  be  found;"  then 
recollecting  himself,  he  exclaimed :  "  Marianne  has 
not  yet  weaned  her  little  girl." 

"  Do  you  think  she  would  take  this  child  ? " 

"  She  must.  I  will  attend  to  the  matter,  doctor, 
I  will  attend  to  the  matter." 

Half  an  hour  after  the  events  just  related  the 
priest  left  the  hut,  holding  his  little  lantern  in  one 
hand,  and  with  the  other  carrying  a  tolerably  large 
bundle  under  his  cloak.  It  was  the  baby,  half  buried 


192  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

in  its  mother's  clothing,  which  had  been  wrapped 
around  it.  Abbe  Roche,  with  his  tall,  athletic  figure 
and  broad  shoulders,  was  a  comical  yet  touching  sight . 
He  walked  with  the  excessive  care  of  a  man  who 
carries  a  glass  filled  to  the  brim — watchful,  awkward, 
bending  half  double,  and  seeming  almost  bowed 
down  by  the  weight  of  his  light  burden.  "  Suppose 
he  should  take  cold,  he  thought,  suppose  he  should 
be  too  warm  ?  The  little  thing's  life  hangs  by  a 
thread ! " 

He  experienced  an  emotion  never  before  imagined, 
while  thinking  that  the  fate  of  the  little  creature  was 
entirely  in  his  hands,  that  he  might  suffocate  it  by  a 
slight  pressure,  or  crush  it  by  making  a  false  step. 
He  had  a  feeling  of  almost  paternal  tenderness  for 
the  tiny  nursling,  and  took  pleasure  in  holding  it  on 
his  arm  and  making  every  effort  to  shelter  it ;  he 
would  willingly  have  caressed  it !  Was  it  not  a  re- 
minder of  his  own  past?  He, too, had  doubtless  been 
carried  secretly  away  by  night,  concealed  under  some 
stranger's  cloak.  Was  he  not  paying  a  debt  by  tak- 
ing care  of  the  poor  deserted  child  ?  Once  the  in- 
fant moved  in  its  hiding-place  and  began  to  cry.  The 
priest  was  greatly  troubled.  How  should  he  soothe 
it,  how  ascertain  the  cause  ?  He  was  afraid  to  un- 
cover the  child,  the  night  air  was  so  cold,  and  scarcely 
dared  to  touch  the  little  man,  his  fingers  seemed  so 
huge  and  clumsy.  Fortunately,  he  remembered  what 
he  had  seen  the  mothers  of  Grand  Fort  do  under 
similar  circumstances;  and  while  moving  the  little 
one  up  and  down  as  gently  as  possible,  he  endeavored 
to  recollect  some  simple  song ;  but  not  recalling  any, 
began  to  intone  the  vesper  service,  as  if  it  were  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  The  effect  was  al- 
most magical,  and  quiet  being  restored,  Abb6  Rocho 
continued  his  walk,  but  on  reaching  Marianne's  house 
found  that  he  was  exhausted  with  fatigue.  Never  in 
his  life  had  he  performed  a  harder  task. 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  193 

It  was  some  time  before  his  knock  was  answered ; 
but  at  last  a  window  opened,  and  a  head  appeared. 

"  Why,  good  gracious,  there  must  be  the  deuce  to 
pay  when  people  come  knocking  at  one's  doors  in 
this  fashion  !  What  do  you  want  ?  What  time  is  it  ?  " 

"  Let  me  in,  good  mother,"  replied  the  priest ;  "  it 
is  three  o'clock  iu  the  morning." 

On  recognizing  the  cure's  voice,  the  good  woman 
lighted  a  candle  and  opened  the  door  at  once. 

"  My  good  Marianne,"  said  the  priest  entering, 
"here  is  another  child  that  God  sends  you!"  He 
drew  aside  the  cloak,  and  revealed  the  infant's  little 
hand  hanging  below  its  folds. 

"  If  you  will  not  take  him,  he  must  go  to  the  oth- 
er world  for  food  and  drink." 

"  Poor  little  innocent !  let  me  give  him  something 
immediately,"  and  she  threw  into  the  fire-place  a 
handful  of  dry  twigs,  that  blazed  up  instantly. 

Meantime,  Marianne's  husband  was  dressing  him- 
self behind  the  bed-curtains. 

"  What !  you  have  brought  us  a  foster-child, 
haven't  you,  M.  le  cure  ?  Of  course  I  should  not  want 
to  turn  the  little  thing  away ;  but  there  is  a  great  deal 
to  be  done — a  great  deal  to  be  done,"  repeated  the 
wood-cutter. 

Marianne  removed  the  infant's  coverings,  reveal- 
ing his  large  head  and  tiny,  active,  vigorous  limbs, 
and  turned  him  to  the  right  and  left,  saying :  "  He  is 
a  handsome  fellow  :  aren't  you  a  beauty,  my  lad  ?  " 
Then  hastily  wrapping  him  up  again,  and  encircling 
him  with  her  left  arm  with  the  wonderful  skill  that  is 
one  of  the  instinctive  gifts  of  maternity,  she  went  to- 
wards a  large  chest,  and  took  out  some  blankets  and 
infants'  clothing.  "  Come,  husband,  warm  these  things. 
You  see,  M.  le  cure",  there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  done. 
I  have  four  already  !  if  I  had  not,  I  wouldn't  say 
anything,  but — " 

The  wood-cutter  had  both  skill  and  experience  in 
13 


If)  4  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

these  matters,  for  he  took  the  clothes  in  his  huge, 
bony  hands  without  the  least  hesitation,  and  stooped 
over  the  fire  to  blow  upon  the  flame. 

"  After  all,"  continued  the  good  woman,  "  he  is  a 
handsome  boy,  and  welcome.  Is  he  a  child  from  the 
hospital,  M.  le  cure"  ?  " 

';  Yes,  he  has  neither  father  nor  mother.  You  will 
be  paid,  of  course." 

"  Yes,  that's  all  right,"  murmured  the  husband, 
still  blowing  the  fire. 

"  And  well  paid,"  added  the  priest,  "  I  promise 
you  that." 

"  Ah  !  it's  a  fine  boy,  and  my  wife  knows  how  to 
take  care  of  children  as  well  as  anybody.  It  is 
strange  that  the  fire  don't  kindle." 

;<  Well !  and  the  caps,  where  are  the  babies'  caps  ? " 

"  Can't  you  go  and  look  for  them,  and  keep  quiet, 
you  everlasting  chatter-box  ?  It's  very  hard  luck,  isn't 
it,  M.  le  cure",  to  have  a  husband  that  is  always  talk- 
ing ?  When  he  don't  chatter,  he  sings ;  when  he 
doesn't  sing  he  talks,  and  whether  one  likes  it  or  not, 
makes  very  little  difference.  Oh,  good  gracious  ! 
there  is  the  other  little  monkey  waking  up.  Go  and 
see  what  it  wants,  husband." 

"  It  wants — it  wants  something  to  drink." 

"  It  wants — it  wants —  What  on  earth  do  you 
mean  by  your  it  tcants,  it  wants  f  " 

"  Bless  me  !  of  course  it  wants — " 

"  It  wants  what  ?  " 

"  It  wants  something  to  drink,  I  tell  you." 

"  Well !  after  all  my  asking,  must  you  put  on  mit- 
tens to  say :  It  wants  to  nurse  ?  Isn't  it  natural  for 
a  child  to  nurse,  M.  le  cur6  ?  But  it  shall  do  no  such 
thing,  there  now.  Give  it  some  sugar  and  water ;  it 
sha'n't  nurse.  It  must  be  weaned  at  once." 

While  speaking,  Marianne  had  dressed  the  new- 
born infant  in  a  twinkling,  and  was  now  dandling  it 
in  her  arms. 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  195 

"  Well,  my  friends,  you  have  kind  hearts,"  said 
the  cure",  "  and  now  good-night,  I  must  go  home  and 
rest." 

He  approached  the  baby  and  gently  embraced  it, 
then  turned  towards  the  door,  saying :  "  Good-bye 
until  to-morrow." 

The  wood-cutter  accompanied  the  cur6,  grinning 
until  his  little  round  eyes  were  almost  lost  amidst  his 
deep  wrinkles.     At  last,  shrugging  his  huge  shoul- 
ders, accustomed  to  carry  heavy  logs  of  wood,  he 
murmured :    "  She  scolds  me  a  little  before  people, 
but  I  love  her  for  all  that,  M.  le  cure." 
"  What  is  he  saying  now  ?  " 
"  I  said  that  I  loved  you.  for  all  that," 
"  It  is  strange  that  you  should  say  such  ridiculous 
things  !     I  love  you  just  the  same,  too." 


XXIII. 

Day  was  just  dawning  as  Abbe  Roche  returned 
home.  He  threw  himself  on  his  bed,  hoping  to  ob- 
tain a  little  quiet  and  repose;  but  scarcely  had  he 
closed  his  eyes  Avhen  he  was  assailed  by  a  tumultuous 
throng  of  visions.  The  chateau  was  in  flames.  The 
old  church  bell  rang  violently,  and  all  the  villagers, 
suddenly  roused  from  slumber,  ran  to  seize  their 
fire  buckets.  He  rushed  into  the  midst  of  the  con- 
flagration, and  perceived  the  countess,  half  dressed, 
with  dishevelled  hair,  wringing  her  hands  and  calling 
to  him  for  aid.  "  I  forgive  you,  my  friend,"  she 
cried  ;  "  save  me,  save  me  !  " 

He  leaped  over  every  obstacle,  reached  her  side, 
and  raised  her  in  his  arms.  She  clung  to  him  with  all 
her  strength,  exclaiming :  "  You  are  my  preserver,  I 
love  you." 

At  these  words  he  seemed  to  be  endowed  witb 
threefold  power,  and  bore  her  through  the  midst  of 


196  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

the  flames.  The  ceilings  and  roofs  were  falling. 
People  shouted  :  "  Come  here,  go  there."  He  could 
not  move.  He  saw  her  lose  all  consciousness — and 
the  thought  of  dying  with  her  in  the  midst  of  the 
tumult  excited  such  keen  emotions  that  he  suddenly 
awoke.  On  emerging  from  the  clamor,  and  finding 
himself  in  his  silent  little  chamber,  dimly  visible  in 
the  bluish  light  of  early  morning,  he  clasped  his 
hands,  crying  :  "  My  God,  my  God,  grant  me  peace 
once  more  ! " 

Then  his  head  drooped  again,  his  eyes  closed, 
and  he  saw  her  once  more  walking  beside  him,  but 
it  was  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice.  They  talked 
in  whispers,  for  they  were  pursued.  Suddenly  the 
young  Avife  drew  him  towards  her,  and  clasped  in 
each  other's  arms,  they  sprang  into  the  abyss.  It  was 
one  of  those  interminable  falls  which  sometimes  oc- 
cur in  dreams,  and  afford  time  to  die  most  blissfully. 
As  he  took  her  hand  and  raised  it  to  his  lips,  the  doc- 
tor said : 

"  You  see  that  she  is  dead ;  take  the  child  and  fly." 
Then  he  entered  a  vast  cathedral,  which  was  suddenly 
filled  with  light,  crowded,  and  echoing  with  music,  as 
if  for  the  ordination  of  some  priest.  He  felt  the 
child  move  under  his  cloak,  and  although  he  strove  to 
lose  himself  in  the  throng,  was  pushed  into  the  front 
ranks.  All  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  with  an  expres- 
sion of  contempt  and  repugnance.  He  saw  the  bish- 
op advance  to  meet  him,  and  as  the  prelate  ap- 
proached, recognized  under  his  mitre  the  livid  features 
of  the  Count  de  Manteigney,  who  publicly  slapped 
him  in  the  face.  The  crowd  rushed  upon  him,  drove 
him  from  the  temple,  and  he  found  himself  in  an  im- 
mense desert,  holding  in  his  arms  the  new-born  infant, 
and  bathing  it  with  his  tears. 

The  Anf/elus  roused  the  cur6  of  Grand  Fort  from 
these  haunting  nightmares.  He  opened  his  windows 
to  admit  the  fresh  morning  air,  and  remembering  that 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  197 

the  bell-ringer  would  be  awaiting  him  in  the  vestry, 
went  there  as  usual.  On  leaving  the  church,  his  mind 
was  somewhat  calmer,  and  he  discovered  that  he  was 
very  hungry.  Cutting  off  a  large  piece  of  bread,  he 
began  to  eat  it  eagerly ;  but  when  about  to  pour  out 
some  wine,  stopped,  replaced  the  bottle,  and  drank  a 
large  glass  of  water.  Was  he  imposing  a  penance 
upon  himself,  and  did  he  wish  to  begin,  by  this  little 
sacrifice,  a  life  of  reparation  ? — Who  can  tell  ?  He 
took  his  breviary  and  went  towards  Marianne's  cot- 
tage, intending  afterwards  to  visit  pere  Loursiere. 
While  Abbe  Roche  was  ascending  the  mountain,  a 
very  singular  rumor  began  to  spread  through  the  vil- 
lage. Already  on  the  square  before  the  church,  and 
at  the  doors  of  the  houses,  groups  of  people  were 
eagerly  talking.  They  related  the  following  tale  : 

The  preceding  night,  a  little  shepherd  named 
Pierre  Ribat,  scarcely  more  than  a  child,  while  re- 
turning home  rather  late,  had  perceived  on  the  moun- 
tain, near  a  grove  of  trees,  at  the  spot  called  the 
White  Cross,  on  account  of  two  rocks  placed  one 
above  another,  a  sort  of  light,  a  tremulous  light, 
something  like  a  Will-o'-the-Wisp.  The  child,  great- 
ly surprised  by  this  unexpected  sight,  had  also  noticed 
a  strong  smell  of  incense  in  the  air,  and  although 
much  terrified,  crouched  among  the  grasses  and 
crawled  towards  the  light,  which  at  times  disappeared 
and  then  re-appeared.  On  arriving  within  a  certain 
distance,  he  heard  a  confused  murmur  of  voices,  and 
hiding  behind  a  little  bush,  gazed  at  the  scene  as 
steadily  as  he  could.  The  light  flickered  like  a  star 
that  was  about  to  return  to  the  skies.  Suddenly  a 
cry  arose,  a  frightful  cry,  such  as  he  had  never  heard 
before,  a  cry  that  seemed  to  proceed  from  the  rocks. 
The  child  was  so  frightened  that  he  felt  his  hair  stand 
on  end,  and  he  could  not  help  uttering  a  shriek,  when 
the  light  was  instantly  transformed  into  a  dazzling 
flood  of  rays,  in  the  midst  of  which  he  saw  with  his 


198  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

own  eyes  the  Holy  Virgin  mounted  on  an  ass,  and 
Saint  Joseph  walking  behind,  so  that  any  one  would 
have  supposed  the  colored  statues  in  the  church  of 
Grand  Fort  had  suddenly  appeared  in  a  burst  of  sun- 
light. The  Child  Jesus  was  probably  concealed, 
under  his  mother's  cloak  on  accovmt  of  the  night  air, 
so  the  shepherd  did  not  see  him ;  but  he  was  almost 
sure  that  he  had  heard  him.  Unfortunately  the 
splendor  of  the  heavenly  light  was  so  great  that  his 
dazzled  eyes  could  not  distinguish  the  details  of  the 
picture  very  clearly.  Be  that  as  it  might,  Pierre 
Ribat  plainly  understood  that  the  Virgin  did  not  wish 
to  be  approached,  for  she  raised  her  arm,  and  ordered 
him  by  a  gesture  of  the  hand  to  go  at  once  towards 
the  old  saw-mill ;  then  everything  disappeared.  The 
little  shepherd  lost  all  self-command  on  finding  him- 
self alone  in  the  darkness,  and  began  to  run  at  full 
speed  over  the  stones  and  through  the  brambles, 
leaping  over  rocks  and  hedges  and  climbing  the  steep 
slopes ;  the  dogs,  hearing  the  uproar,  sprang  out  of 
the  sheep-folds,  and  rushed  after  him.  Half  mad 
with  terror,  he  reached  the  plain,  cut  by  the  stones, 
torn  by  the  thorns,  and,  still  pursued  by  the  dogs, 
stopped  behind  the  new  building,  which  barred  any 
further  progress,  and  failing  on  his  knees,  recited 
five  Paters  and  five  Aves. 

Such  was  the  strange  tale  which,  after  going  the 
rounds  of  the  village,  reached  the  ears  of  M.  Larreau 
about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  by  means  of  his 
valet.  This  man  unfortunately  was  tinged  with  free 
thinking,  so  that  he  had  somewhat  perverted  the 
meaning  and  changed  the  words. 

"  And  you  say,"  observed  the  spout-maker,  who 
had  at  first  smiled  but  now  appeared  to  be  lost  in 
meditation, — "  you  say  the  child  stopped  behind  the 
house  I  have  built  in  the  valley  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,  that  is  where  the  Holy  Virgin 
commanded  him  to  go, — at  least,  so  he  says." 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  19S 

M.  Larreau  stroked  his  chin  thinking  :  "  The  abbe" 
is  certainly  extremely  courageous.  I  should  never 
have  suspected  that  while  looking  so  demure  he  was, 
in  fact,  a  master  of  strategy ;  if  he  don't  carry  matters 
too  far  ! "  He  was  strongly  tempted  to  laugh,  but  re- 
strained himself  in  the  valet's  presence,  and  continued 
to  murmur  :  "  This  is  a  very  serious  affair,  very  seri- 
ous— I  shall  go  there  at  once." 

"  You  will  find  the  whole  village  in  an  uproar ; 
everybody  is  out  of  doors.  What  a  country  of  sav- 
ages !  " 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  Do  me  the  favor 
to  keep  your  remarks  to  yourself,  and  hand  me  my 
boots." 

The  village  was  becoming  more  and  more  excited ; 
the  inn  of  the  Sapin-Vert  was  constantly  filled  with 
noisy,  inquisitive,  ever-changing  customers,  among 
whom  the  two  coachmen  from  the  castle  harangued 
the  throng  with  the  authority  of  persons  who  have 
seen  a  great  deal  of  the  world,  and  made  the  discus- 
sion still  more  vehement  by  their  critical  remarks. 
As  the  door  of  the  church  had  chanced  to  remain  open, 
a  number  of  women,  desirous  to  ask  Heaven  about  the 
great  event,  were  kneeling  in  the  porch,  praying  fer- 
vently in  an  undertone,  so  that  the  voices  sounded 
like  the  hum  of  a  bee-hive.  Among  them  was  the 
little  shepherd,  bewildered,  terrified,  yet  proud  of 
the  increasing  importance  given  him  by  the  story  of 
his  adventure. 

At  last  M.  Larreau  appeared,  walking  along,  be- 
stowing smiling  glances  with  his  right  eye,  and 
watching  the  scene  from  the  left.  Saint  Louis,  stand- 
ing beneath  the  oak,  must  have  had  just  such  a  noble, 
simple,  paternal  bearing.  The  capitalist  was  held  in 
high  esteem  at  Grand  Fort ;  the  good  women  buzz- 
ing in  the  porch  rose  at  his  approach,  and  pere  Bara- 
voux,  mayor  of  the  village,  and  one  of  the  fattest  men 


200  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

ever  seen,  was  among  the  first  to  greet  the  new  ar 
rival. 

"Well!  pere  Baravoux,  well  !"  said  ]M.  Larreau, 
«  well—? " 

"  As  you  say,  Monsieur,"  replied  the  other  with 
the  utmost  gr/avity  of  -demeanor/'itisastonishing  !  " 

"  I  did  not  say  it  was  astonishing ;  I  said  nothing 
at  all ;  do  not  put  words  into  my  mouth  that  I  never 
uttered."  The  crowd  began  to  gather  around  the 
two  wisest  heads  in  the  country.  "  Have  you  ques- 
tioned the  child,  my  dear  Baravoux — has  M.  le  cur6 
seen  him  ?  What  does  M.  le  cure  think  of  it  ?  Why, 
where  is  M.  le  cure"  ?  " 

"  He  is  not  at  home,  he  has  been  sought  for  in 
every  direction,  and  no  one  has  been  able  to  find  him." 

"  May  God  bless  him  !  "  muttered  the  capitalist 
between  his  teeth;  "when  people  do  such  things, 
they  ought  to  remain  at  their  posts.  He  did  not  give 
me  the  least  warning — he — oh  !  he's  a  devil  of  a  man  ! 
After  all,  perhaps  it  is  a  part  of  his  plan." 

"  Not  finding  M.  le  cure,"  continued  the  mayor, 
"  I  asked  the  child  a  few  questions  myself,  and  even 
wrote  down  the  answers  in  legal  form." 

"  I  was  very  sure,  pere  Baravoux,  that  you  would 
not  spare  trouble  under  such  circumstances." 

At  that  moment  the  by-standers  gave  Avay  with 
respectful  consideration,  and  the  little  shepherd  ap- 
proached, accompanied  by  his  mother,  who  led  him 
by  the  hand.  Her  face  was  as  red  as  fire.  He  was 
dirty,  ragged,  in  tatters ;  but  his  glance  had  the  con- 
fidence imparted  by  success. 

''  Good-morning,  my  lad.  Well !  what  is  the 
matter  with  you  ?" 

Before  the  child  had  half  opened  his  mouth,  the 
peasant  woman  smiled  and  courtesied.  "  This  is  my 
son,  I  am  his  mother,"  said  she. 

"  Oh !  oh !  so  much  the  better ;  I  congratulate 
you." 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  201 

"  And  he  has  always  been  an  honest  lad,  aud  fear- 
ed God,  we  can  truly  say  that  he  never  caused  us  any 
Borrow." 

"  Indeed,  that  is  well ;  he  looks  wide  awake.  Take 
your  fingers  out  of  your  nose,  ray  lad." 

"  He  is  so  excited,  poor  child  !  Take  your  fingers 
out  at  once,  you  rogue,  when  the  gentleman  speaks 
to  you." 

"  Continue  your  examination  of  the  boy,  my  dear 
Baravoux,  don't  let  me  interrupt  you  in  the  duties 
of  your  office ;  you  are  the  first  magistrate  in  the 
country." 

M.  Larreau  had  pronounced  these  words  with  the 
most  vivacious  carelessness,  smiling  good-naturedly 
as  he  looked  around  the  circle ;  and  the  men  smiled 
too,  not  wishing  to  appear  more  credulous  than  their 
master. 

Baravoux,  excessively  flattered  by  the  important 
part  assigned  him,  coughed,  bowed,  and  modestly 
continued  in  the  following  words  : 

"  Before  the  father  of  the  countess,  the  mayor  of 
Grand  Fort." 

"  Oh !  ask  him  the  questions  as  simply  as  possible ; 
it  won't  do  to  frighten  the  lad,  and  besides,  this  is 
not  an  official  examination,  it  is  a  matter  that  princi- 
pally concerns  M.  le  cure." 

Baravoux,  nodding  assent,  replied :  "  Well,  little 
one,  tell  your  story." 

And  the  shepherd,  who  had  been  relating  his  ad- 
venture ever  since  daybreak,  began  again  for  the 
twentieth  time,  hi  a  very  weary  voice,  the  story  that 
we  already  know.  When  he  reached  the  point  where 
the  Virgin  made  the  famous  gesture,  M.  Larreau, 
hitherto  smiling  and  skeptical,  became  extremely 
grave,  and  the  whole  assembly,  whose  eyes  had  been 
fixed  upon  him,  redoubled  their  attention.  Pere  Bara- 
voux, perceiving  that  the  gesture  must  be  of  the 
greatest  importance,  became  more  precise  in  his  ques 


202  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

tions  :  "  Do  you  distinctly  recollect,"  said  he,  "  in  what 
direction  the  lady — the  Holy  Virgin,  I  mean,  for 
every  thing  leads  us  to  believe — does  it  not,  Mon- 
sieur— " 

"  It  is  a  very  serious  matter,"  murmured  the  specu- 
lator. 

One  might  have  heard  a  pin  drop.  "  Do  you  re- 
member in  what  direction  the  Virgin  extended  her 
arm?" 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course  I  do,  because  I  instantly  ran 
where  she  told  me  to  go  as  fast  as  I  could,  and  it  was 
duectly  towards  the  new  building,  where  I  stopped, 
because  the  Avail  prevented  my  going  any  farther." 

All  looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 

"  Dear  me,  my  children,"  said  the  rich  man,  tap- 
ping lightly  on  the  lid  of  his  snuff-box,  "  I  am  no 
more  credulous  than  other  people.  If  we  believe  all 
we  have  heard,  you  understand  clearly  that — "  Every 
head  was  bowed  in  token  of  assent.  "  For  my  part, 
when  I  was  told  of  the  apparition  this  morning,  I 
shrugged  my  shoulders,  I  won't  deny  it,  I  shrugged 
my  shoulders  ;  but  after  hearing  the  story  of  this  child, 
who  has  always  been,  his  mother  assures  us,  perfectly 
truthful,  and  blameless — 

"  That  is  the  exact  truth  ;  I  said  so,  and  I  say  it 
still ;  you  don't  see  such  a  child  every  day,  and  he 
deserves  to  be  well  rewarded." 

The  mayor  stopped  the  good  woman  by  a  motion 
of  his  hand  :  "  Hush,  mere  Ribat,  let  the  gentleman 
speak,  and  try  and  keep  your  proper  place." 

.  "  I  confess,  then,  my  children,  that  in  the  presence 
of  these  facts —  It  is  impossible  to  deny  it,  the  matter 
is  a  very  serious  one." 

"  I  think  so  too,  I  think  so  too,"  panted  Baravoux 
respectfully. 

"  We  must  not  be  too  credulous,  of  course ;  but 
on  the  other  hand,  we  ought  not  to  deny  everything 
positively." 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  203 

"  Like  Pagans ! " 

"  Like  Pagans.  The  mayor,  who  has  hitherto 
acted  so  discreetly,  is  perfectly  right :  like  Pagans. 
I  am  sorry  that  M.  le  cur6  is  not  here  to  enlighten  us ; 
let  us  wait  for  him,  my  friends,  let  us  wait  for  him." 

And  M.  Larreau,  unceremoniously  putting  his 
arm  within  that  of  the  municipal  officer,  began  to  walk 
up  and  down  the  square.  "  You  know,  my  dear 
friend,"  said  he,  "  that  whenever  a  supernatural  event 
presents  itself,  there  are  always  a  multitude  of  peo- 
ple ready  to  say  :  '  God  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.' 
I,  on  the  contrary,  make  this  reflection.  Why  should 
Heaven  be  unaware  of  what  happens  ?  You  are  an 
upright  and  intelligent  man,  pere  Baravoux,  am  I 
right  or  wrong  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  right,  Monsieur ;  that  is  the  exact 
truth." 

"  For  instance,  there  is  the  miracle  of  the  grotto 
of  Lourdes.  Do  you  know  about  the  miracle  of  the 
grotto  of  Lourdes  ? " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,  I  read  it  in  a  little  pamphlet  a 
peddler,  who  was  trading  in  cotton  stockings,  sold  me 
last  year  on  his  journey  through  the  country." 

"  Well !  every  one  exclaimed  :  '  It  is  no  miracle, 
no,  it  is  no  miracle.'  Yet  it  proved  to  be  one.  What 
was  in  the  grotto  before  the  fountain  gushed  forth  ? 
A  little  dampness,  that  is  all,  a  very  common  thing 
among  mountains ;  nothing  is  more  common  than  to 
meet  with  a  little  dampness.  Without  seeking  far- 
ther, just  here,  within  two  hundred  yards  of  the  new 
building,  towards  the  rock,  there  is  a  very  wet  spot. 
There  is  nothing  extraordinary  about  it,  nobody  was 
surprised  that  the  grotto  of  Lourdes  should  be  damp ; 
but  all  at  once  (Baravoux  listened  with  the  greatest 
attention), all  at  once,  by  the  information  of  a  child, 
enlightened  by  some  revelation — " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 


204  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

"  They  gently  removed  a  little  of  the  damp  soil  in 
the  grotto,  and — " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  Tlie  fountain  gushed  forth." 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  Now  I  ask  you,  my  dear  friend,  as  a  man  of 
sense  and  judgment,  was  that  a  miracle  or  not  ?  " 

The  mayor  made  no  reply,  so  great  was  his  pre- 
occupation. His  eyes  were  fixed  on  vacancy,  and  he 
breathed  heavily  like  a  tavern-keeper  coming  up  from 
a  wine  cellar. 

M.  Larreau  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and 
casting  a  scrutinizing  glance  at  the  mayor,  added  :  "  I 
repeat  that  this  is  a  very  serious  matter ;  I  deeply  re- 
gret that  the  cure  is  not  here.  In  any  case,  you  have 
examined  the  child  as  carefully  as  possible,  and  I  con- 
gratulate you.  Fare  well,  my  dear  friend,  I  am  going 
to  breakfast." 

Scai-cely  had  M.  Larreau  departed  when  the  may- 
or, turning  with  the  solemnity  of  a  three-decker  about 
to  tack,  said  to  four  or  five  peasants  who  were  stand- 
ing near :  "  My  lads,  go  and  get  your  pickaxes  and 
shovels,  and  follow  me.  I  have  an  idea." 

When  the  men  had  brought  their  tools,  they  set 
out  in  silence,  followed  by  a  crowd  of  people,  and 
preceded  by  the  mayor  in  person,  who  seemed  to  be 
suddenly  inspired. 


XXTV. 

By  the  merest  accident  the  countess,  who  accord- 
ing to  her  maid's  report  had  spent  a  restless  night, 
remained  in  her  own  room,  sending  an  apology  to  her 
father  for  not  coming  down.  M.  Larreau,  therefore, 
breakfasted  alone.  After  finishing  his  meal,  he  went 
into  his  study,  and  had  already  been  busily  occupied 
for  some  time,  when  his  valet,  the  free-thinker  we 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  205 

have  mentioned,  entered,  and  with  a  very  tolerable 
display  of  indifference,  informed  him  that  the  mayor 
requested  his  presence  in  the  valley.  "  Very  well,  I 
Avill  go  at  once,"  said  the  spoilt  maker ;  and  making  a 
slight  concession  to  his  servant's  opinions,  added,  with 
a  weary  expression :  "  What  do  they  want  of  me 
now  ?  "" 

"  If  you  do  not  need  my  services  for  an  hour  or 
two,  I  should  like  to  ask  Monsieur's  permission—" 

"  You  can  go  wherever  you  like." 

"  Permission,"  he  continued  with  a  smile,  "  to 
visit  the  place  where  the  miracle  was  performed." 

"  Miracle  !  What  miracle  ?  Who  is  talking  about 
miracles  ?  Go  wherever  you  choose,  but  speak  more 
respectfully  of  sacred  things." 

"  If  you  believe  in  these  things,  Monsieur,  I  be- 
lieve in  them  too.  People  in  your  employ  are  too 
well  off  to—" 

"  You  must  not  shock  any  one's  feelings,  that  is 
what  I  mean — " 

"  The  rascal  is  as  transparent  as  amber  ! — " 

Half  an  hour  after,  perceiving  M.  Larreau  stroll- 
ing slowly  along  like  a  man  walking  for  pleasure, 
pere  Baravoux  came  to  meet  him,  and  exclaimed  in 
an  agitated,  panting  voice,  pointing  to  the  large  hole 
that  had  been  dug :  "  A  spring  !  Monsieur,  a  spring  in 
the  sand — red — that  I  have  discovered  !  " 

"  A  spring,  my  dear  friend  ;  is  it  possible  ?  The 
deuce  " — and  quickly  regaining  his  usual  imperturba- 
bility, which  for  an  instant  had  deserted  him,  he  ad- 
ded, loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  all  the  by-standers  : 
''  Well !  to  tell  the  truth,  I  am  not  so  very  much  sur- 
prised ;  I  have  always  had  an  idea  there  might  be  a 
spring  there." 

He  sought  with  his  eyes  the  invisible  cure,  the 
only  man  whose  position  enabled  him  to  publicly  sup- 
port the  weight  of  this  miraculous  event,  and  not 
perceiving  him,  wished  to  lessen  the  supernatural 


206  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

character  of  the  discovery.  "  Really,  I  am  not  sur 
prised  that  there  should  be  a  spring  in  this  spot." 

The  mayor  seemed  to  be  very  much  annoyed  by 
the  capitalist's  remark.  "  Monsieur,"  said  he  sharply, 
"  you  did  not  tell  me  so  this  morning ;  and  with  all 
due  respect  to  you,  I  beg  leave  to  observe,  that  if 
you  had  suspected  it,  you  would  probably  have  at 
once  pursued  the  course  that  I  did." 

Baravoux  must  have  been  deeply  wounded  when 
he  dared  to  speak  to  the  countess's  father  in  such  a 
manner.  He  continued  with  equal  excitement,  while 
his  whole  person  shook  like  a  mass  of  jelly  :  "It  was 
after  the  examin — " 

"  The  examination,  pere  Baravoux  ?  " 

"  It  was  just  after  you  went  home  to  breakfast 
that  the  inspiration  flashed  upon  me  to  come  here,  as 
true  as  the  sun  is  shining  upon  us,  and  if  it  had  not 
been  for  that  inspiration — well !  they — they  would 
not  have  found  the  spring." 

M.  Larreau  was  about  to  make  a  soothing  reply, 
when  the  mother  of  the  little  shepherd,  still  leading 
her  son  by  the  hand,  pushed  through  the  crowd,  and 
planting  herself  before  the  mayor,  exclaimed :  "  Well ! 
then,  if  that  is  true,  what  did  my  boy  do  ?  "  She  did 
not  attempt  to  conceal  her  indignation.  "  So  he 
wasn't  the  one  to  run  where  he  was  told  to  go  ?  He 
wasn't  the  one  who  pointed  out  the  place,  and  said  : 
'  It  was  there,  nowhere  else,'  and  told  the  whole  sto- 
ry, from  the  very  beginning  down  to  the  smallest 
particular." 

Baravoux,  who  had  flushed  scarlet,  replied  :  "  I 
do  not  pretend — " 

"  Oh  !  indeed,  but  as  true  as  there  is  a  God  above 
us,  the  mayor  did  pretend — yes,  he  did  pretend — I 
am  only  a  poor  woman,  but  I  speak  the  truth.  It  is 
because  we  are  not  rich ;  if  my  husband  was  alive, 
people  would  not  dare  to  rob  the  child  of  his  reward ; 
the  mayor  doesn't  need  it,  and  he  is  very  hard  upon 


AltO  UNI)  A  SPRING.  207 

poor  people."  Then  turning  towards  the  crowd  with 
increasing  excitement,  she  added  :  "  Tell  me  at  once, 
was  it  my  son  who  saw  the  Holy  Virgin  that  night  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  was,  of  course  it  was,"  murmured 
all  the  women,  deep-touched  by  the  appeal. 

"  I  wish  them  to  answer  me,  too,"  cried  Baravoux : 
"  who  found  the  spring  ?  " 

"  You,  it  was  certainly  you,"  said  all  the  men  who 
were  present. 

"  Well,  then  !  since  I  had  the  inspiration,  I  shall 
remain  here,  because  it  is  my  work — " 

'•  And  that  devil  of  a  cure  does  not  come,"  thought 
M.  Larreau ;  u  he  ought  to  bless  them — speak  to 
them.  Where  does  he  hide  himself?  Good  heavens  ! 
where  does  he  hide  himself?  " 

"  The  mayor  can  stay  here  if  he  chooses,"  replied 
mere  Ribat,  with  a  menacing  glance,  "  but  my  son 
and  I  will  go  to  the  White  Cross,  and  if  it  should 
prove  necessary,  ask  the  Virgin  to  return." 

She  walked  rapidly  away,  dragging  by  the  hand 
the  little  shepherd,  who  was  almost  exhausted  with 
fatigue. 

The  hole  that  had  been  dug  by  the  mayor's  orders 
gradually  filled  with  water,  and  the  number  of  curi- 
ous people,  eager  to  view  the  spectacle,  increased 
every  moment.  They  tasted  the  reddish,  muddy 
liquid,  whose  odor,  however,  was  by  no  means  attrac- 
tive, bathed  their  faces  with  it,  and  made  the  sign  of 
the  cross.  Meantime,  as  the  number  of  the  inquisi- 
tive still  increased  and  the  earth  became  softened  by 
their  footsteps,  those  nearest  the  hole  began  to  be  in- 
convenienced, slipped,  jostled  each  other,  and  scolded 
loudly.  Baravoux,  whose  anger  was  only  partially 
appeased,  told  the  workmen  to  disperse  the  throng, 
and  gave  orders  that  a  strong  palisade  of  stakes 
should  be  erected. 

As  for  M.  Larreau,  we  need  scarcely  say  that  he 
had  taken  advantage  of  mere  Ribat's  departure  to  re- 


208  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

turn  to  the  chateau.  He  found  that  the  success  of 
the  miracle  was  rather  too  rapid,  and  was  particularly 
vexed  by  the  prolonged  absence  of  the  cure.  What 
would  be  the  result  of  all  this?  He  had  wished  to 
have  a  slight  tinge  of  the  mavellous,  to  insure  the 
success  of  the  affair,  but  nothing  more.  How  was  he 
to  suppose  that  the  worthy  cure,  apparently  so  calm, 
so  little  moved  by  impulse,  would  of  his  own  accord, 
without  informing  any  one,  have  organized  such  a 
colossal  piece  of  jugglery  ? 

"  He  did  not  believe  in  the  real  efficacy  of  the 
water,  and  therefore  relied  solely  upon  the  power  of 
his  apparition,"  he  thought  to  himself.  "  It  is  a  very 
bold  stroke — the  boldness  of  an  ambitious  man  who 
thoroughly  understands  the  human  heart.  Have  not 
all  who  endeavor  to  establish  anything,  even  to  the 
general  advantage,  been  forced  sooner  or  later  to  risk 
everything  to  gain  their  object  ?  Under  any  circum- 
stances I  am  very  well  satisfied  to  have  no  part  in  this 
foolery.  I  should  have  dissuaded  him  from  it,  if  he 
had  had  the  good  sense  and  politeness  to  consult  me. 
How  the  deuce  did  he  manage  to  carry  out  all  this  ? 
It  is  bold,  extremely  bold,  but  very  clever.  In  Paris, 
or  any  other  great  intellectual  centre,  one  would  be 
apt  to  get  caught  in  playing  such  a  game.  Who 
knows  ?  but  no  !  Bah  !  the  firmest,  most  unchangea- 
ble quality  in  man  is  faith — blind  faith.  It  was  be- 
stowed by  Heaven  to  aid  him  in  submitting  to  be 
governed;  just  as  the  horse's  mouth  was  formed  to 
permit  the  rider  the  use  of  the  bridle.  Thus  the  his- 
tory of  humanity  can  be  told  in  just  these  words : 
You  are  horse  or  rider  according  to  the  degree  of  in- 
telligence. The  animal  bears  its  burden  and  grows 
weary,  it  is  true ;  but  the  position  of  master  has  draw- 
backs also  :  besides  being  fatigued,  he  runs  the  risk 
of  being  thrown  to  the  ground  sooner  or  later. 
Everything  is  equally  balanced ;  God  is  good,  Provi- 
dence is  just.  Perhaps,  after  all,  my  cure  is  only  a 
demure  starling.  I  will  write  to  Claudius." 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  209 


XXV. 

While  Baravoux  was  enclosing  his  discovery  in  a 
Ktrong  palisade,  and  the  capitalist  engaged  in  writing 
to  his  friend  Claudius,  Abbe"  Roche  was  slowly  re- 
turning towards  his  home.  He  had  prayed  for  hours 
beside  the  body  of  Loursiere's  daughter,  then  walked 
on  to  Virez,  and  now  retraced  his  steps  over  the  same 
road  he  had  taken  the  night  before,  somewhat  calmer 
in  mind,  and  thinking  more  coolly  of  all  that  had  oc- 
curred, when,  on  approaching  the  spot  where  he  had 
committed  what  he  still  continued  to  call  his  sin,  he 
thought  he  heard  the  confused  murmur  of  a  number 
of  people  talking  together.  The  place  was  usually 
but  very  little  frequented — what  could  be  the  cause 
of  this  gathering  ? 

The  cur6  hastened  on  with  an  anxiously  throbbing 
heart,  dimly  foreseeing  that  the  disturbance  had  some 
connection  with  the  events  that  had  transpired  the 
evening  before.  At  a  turn  in  the  road,  he  stopped 
in  amazement  on  perceiving  ten  or  twelve  persons 
kneeling  before  the  White  Cross.  All  rose  at  the 
priest's  approach,  and  there  was  the  most  perfect  si- 
lence. 

"  What  are  you  doing  there — why  are  you  kneel- 
ing before  that  stone  ?  "  asked  the  cure". 

Mere  Ribat,  who  had  just  arrived,  advanced — 
rushed,  one  might  almost  say — towards  Abb6  Roche, 
and,  rendered  half  wild  by  all  she  had  said  and  done 
since  morning,  scarcely  took  time  to  breathe,  and  thus 
addressed  him:  "Monsieur  le  cur6,  it  was  my  boy 
that  saw  the  Holy  Virgin  that  night,  close  by  this 
stone,  with  Saint  Joseph  and  the  ass,  saving  your  rev- 
erence, who  discovered  the  spring." 

The  cure'  was  evidently  agitated,  and  looked  at 
the  good  woman  with  an  expression  which,  under  any 
other  circumstances,  would  have  made  her  tremble. 
14 


210  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

She  continued  with  increasing  excitement :  "  Yes, 
yes,  it  was  he  that  discovered  the  spring  and  not  the 
mayor,  as  people  will  tell  you  to  get  us  into  trouble. 
It  was  my  boy;  he — he  himself,  and  the  Virgin  said 
to  him  :  '  I  wish  it  to  be  you,  and  nobody  else.  You 
will  go  there.'  And  he  went  with  great  difficulty,  on 
account  of  the  dogs,  and  the  spring  has  been  found ; 
and  if  it  cures  all  the  diseases  in  the  world,  my  boy 
will  deserve  the  reward  that  is  always  given  to  chil- 
dren who  perform  miracles." 

"  Hush !  mad  woman,"  cried  the  priest,  who 
could  no  longer  contain  himself. 

"  No,  Monsieur  le  cure,  I  won't  hush,  my  boy's 
welfare  depends  upon  it,  and  I  will  keep  on  to  the 
last,  for  there  are  unjust  people  who  think  they  can 
hear  the  Virgin's  voice  better  than  we,  because  they 
have  two  pairs  of  oxen,  and  we  have  none ;  but  that 
makes  no  difference ;  God  performs  His  work  by 
whom  He  wills,  and  the  mayor  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  miracle — no,  nothing  at  all.  I  will  be  torn  into 
four  pieces  before  I  will  say  he  has.  You  must  put 
my  boy's  name  in  your  report,  M.  le  cure,  because  he 
did  everything,  and  because  we  are  poor  and  honest, 
and  work  hard,  and  always  go  to  confession ;  and  he 
ran  till  his  feet  bled,  while  the  mayor  couldn't  run, 
saw  nothing,  heard  nothing,  and  was  fast  asleep  at 
that  hour." 

"  Hush !  "  cried  the  priest  again,  but  this  time  in 
such  a  tone  of  wrath  and  menace  that  all  drew  back 
several  paces.  "  Be  silent,  and  let  all  here  return  to 
their  work.  Do  you  hear  me  ?  " 

They  knew  the  cur6  too  well  to  dare  to  make  any 
reply,  but  murmured  in  an  undertone  :  "  No,  no,  that 
isn't  right,  Baravoux  did  nothing.  The  good  God 
knows  everything,  and  the  Virgin  too."  They  still 
retreated  as  the  priest  advanced  ;  but  terrified  as  they 
had  been  by  the  manner  of  their  pastor,  were  still 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  211 

more  alarmed  by  his  irreverence  upon  the  spot  where 
the  apparition  had  been  seen. 

Yet  he  must  know  best  about  it,  and  there  must 
be  some  reason  why  he  did  not  raise  his  hat  before 
the  White  Cross,  but  turned  his  back  upon  it  as  if 
it  had  been  any  other  stone,  and  could  not  endure  to 
have  prayers  offered  there.  Who  knows,  after  all, 
whether  this  miracle  was  really  performed  by  the 
will  of  God,  and  not  one  of  those  made  by  the  devil 
to  mislead  human  beings  and  maintain  his  power. 

Abbe  Roche,  on  perceiving  the  perplexed  expres- 
sion of  the  poor  peasants,  who  at  the  worst  had  only 
been  guilty  of  an  excess  of  zeal  and  simplicity,  sud- 
denly realized  how  imprudent  and  unjust  he  had  been. 
Was  he  not,  after  all,  the  first  cause  of  this  unfortu- 
nate event  ?  Strange  that  he  should  be  angry  with 
them  on  account  of  his  own  fault !  Was  he  not  ag- 
gravating the  evil,  instead  of  soothing  it  ?  Was  it 
not  unworthy  of  him  to  fall  into  a  passion,  and  threat- 
en those  whose  indulgence  and  forgivreness  he  ought 
to  implore  ?  He  was  doubtless  on  the  point  of  speak- 
ing to  them  gently  and  soothingly,  when  M.  Larreau's 
valet  emerged  from  the  grove  of  trees  in  which  the 
donkey  had  been  fastened  the  night  before.  The 
free-thinker  had  desired,  as  we  know,  to  bring  the 
forces  of  modern  criticism  to  bear  upon  the  examina- 
tion of  the  place.  His  search  had  probably  been  suc- 
cessful, for  he  had  a  most  cheerful  expression,  and, 
carelessly  beating  the  air  with  a  switch,  whistled  a 
hunting  song.  On  perceiving  the  cure,  he  made  a 
rapid  motion  as  if  to  conceal  something  within  his 
vest.  Then  approaching  with  the  most  imperturba- 
ble self-possession,  he  bowed  before  the  White  Cross, 
and  turned  towards  the  cure,  whom  he  also  greeted 
respectfully,  though  an  almost  imperceptible  smile, 
whose  shyness  increased  its  impertinence,  played 
arouud  his  thin  lips. 


212  ABOUND  A  SPRING. 

"  It  was  here  that  the  miracle  took  place,  was  it 
not,  M,  le  cure  ?"  he  inquired. 

The  priest,  who  felt  the  insult  veiled  beneath  the 
apparent  natural  question,  replied  in  a  tremulous 
voice  :  "  Go  along  at  once." 

"  The  road  is  open  to  every  one,  M.  le  cure,  by 
day — as  well  as  by  night,"  and  turning  carelessly  on 
his  heel,  he  passed  on. 

Abbe  Roche  soon  found  himself  alone  before  the 
accursed  stone,  listening  to  the  footsteps  of  his  par- 
ishioners returning  to  the  village.  His  face  suddenly 
flushed  as  he  remembered  the  mocking  expression  of 
the  lackey.  It  seemed  impossible  to  bear  his  shame ; 
he  was  tempted  to  rush  after  the  knave,  compel  him 
to  speak,  and  punish  him  instantly. 

"  Why  should  he  have  smiled  in  that  way,"  said 
he  to  himself, "  if  he  had  not  been  aware  of  the  whole 
adventure  down  to  the  smallest  particular.  And 
then,  what  did  he  hide  under  his  vest  as  he  left  the 
wood-  for  he  had  concealed  something — doubtless 
some  overwhelming  proof.  What  could  it  be  ?  " 

He  became  alarmed,  and  as  he  grew  more  and  more 
agitated,  his  natural  disposition  gaining  the  mastery, 
he  felt  the  necessity  of  forming  some  decided  resolu- 
tion. He  wished  to  confess  everything  honestly,  and 
publicly  make  a  frank  and  full  acknowledgment.  He 
would  be  sentenced,  disgraced,  but  what  did  that 
matter  ?  His  duty  was  to  receive  the  well-merited 
punishment,  rather  than  allow  a  stain  to  rest  upon  re- 
ligion by  his  cowardly  silence,  and  a  falsehood  become 
an  article  of  faith. 

If  he  had  been  alone,  he  would  have  taken  this 
course  ;  but  it  was  not  only  himself.  Had  he  a  right 
to  compromise  the  countess,  to  drag  her  into  such  a 
scandal  ?  Could  he  reveal  a  secret  that  had  been  en- 
trusted to  him,  but  was  not  his  own  ;  and  make  the 
count's  crime  public,  when  his  wife  so  nobly,  with 
such  a  Christian  spirit,  endeavored  to  conceal  it  ? 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  213 

Other  thoughts  crowded  upon  him  :  it  was  impos- 
sible that  the  little  shepherd  could  have  helped  seeing 
the  countess  when  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms ;  he 
must  also  have  seen  him  covering  the  young  wife's 
hands  with  kisses.  Doubtless  the  child  had  said 
nothing  of  all  this  through  shame  and  fear;  but  if 
questioned,  he  would  confess  the  truth.  Those  par- 
ticulars had  become  the  principal,  almost  the  only, 
event  of  that  frightful  night.  He  estimated  its  im- 
portance by  the  depths  of  his  remorse,  and  could  not 
imagine  how  it  could  have  passed  unnoticed. 

He  soon  resumed  his  walk.  At  every  step  that 
he  advanced  towards  the  village,  he  feared  that  some 
new  revelation  might  start  up  before  him.  The  en- 
closures he  passed  seemed  more  solitary  than  usual ; 
he  had  never  found  the  cottages  so  deserted  as  to- 
day. He  saw  through  the  trees,  in  the  distance,  two 
women  ascending  the  path,  one  of  whom  was  carry- 
ing a  large  bottle  with  unusual  care,  and,  for  some 
unaccountable  reason,  he  imagined  that  it  bore  some 
relation  to  the  great  event ;  so,  forgetting  his  desire 
to  escape  from  all  knowledge  of  the  affair,  he  climbed 
the  slope,  and  concealed  himself  behind  a  low  hedge 
on  the  side  of  the  road,  for  it  seemed  as  if  he  could 
not  help  blushing  if  he  met  the  women  face  to  face. 
As  they  passed  him,  one  said  to  the  other  :  "  If  this 
water  cures  people,  it  must  be  good  for  cattle,  too." 

"  Yes,  but  we  must  first  find  out  whether  it  does 
cure  people,"  replied  the  other. 

When  they  were  out  of  sight,  Abbe  Roche  re- 
sumed his  walk.  He  intended  to  make  a  circuit,  in 
order  to  reach  his  dwelling  unobserved  ;  but  had  not 
reckoned  on  the  obstinacy  of  Mayor  Baravoux,  who, 
learning  from  the  people  driven  away  form  the  White 
Cross  that  the  cure  was  in  that  direction,  had  deter- 
mined, in  spite  of  his  obesity,  to  go  and  meet  the 
ju-iest. 

"  Ah!  there  you  are  at  last,  M.  le  cure","  cried  the 


214  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

worthy  man  as  he  perceived  the  priest ;  "  every- 
body has  been  looking  for  you  since  early  morning. 
Where  were  you  ?  Good  heavens !  where  were  you 
at  such  a  time  ?  " 

"  I  was  with  pere  Loursiere,  whose  daughter  has 
just  died." 

"  But  she  don't  belong  to  the  parish,  M.  le  cure, 
and  everybody  was  looking  for  you  all  that  time." 

"  I  am  sorry.     What  do  you  wish  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"You  have  been  informed,  I  suppose,  M.  le  cure, 
of  this  event,  whose  results  cannot  vet  be  calcu- 
lated ? " 

"  I  am  in  haste,"  said  the  priest. 

"  No  more  so  that  I,  M.  le  cur6 ;  I  am  in  a  great 
hurry  to  tell  you  about  things  as  they  really  happened. 
I  have  always  been  an  honest  man ;  well !  I  assure 
you  that  I  was  the  one  who  found  the  spring.  All 
at  once  a  thought  entered  my  mind ;  I  felt  hot  and 
cold  by  turns,  and  said,  almost  without  knowing  it : 
'  My  lads,  take  your  pickaxes  and  shovels,  and  follow 
me.'  Every  one  should  have  his  due.  Is  it  not  so, 
M.  le  cur6  ?  If  I  said  I  saw  the  Virgin  on  her  ass 
that  night  with  Saint  Joseph,  I  should  tell  a  lie. 
Mere  Kibat's  little  boy  saw  that,  and  in  one  point  of 
view,  it  was  fortunate :  they  are  not  rich,  and  it 
will,  as  usual,  exempt  the  child  from  military  service. 
I  do  not  wish  to  lay  claim  to  having  any  share  in  the 
miracle,  not  the  least,  M.  le  cure." 

Abbe  Roche,  anxious  and  agitated  as  he  was,  felt 
disarmed  by  the  extreme  simplicity  of  the  worthy 
man,  and  striving  to  retain  his  calmness,  said :  "  And 
how  dare  you,  pere  Baravoux,  speak  of  a  thing  that 
you  have  not  seen,  and  make  all  this  uproar,  because 
a  child  tells  some  incomprehensible  story?  How 
dare  you  mingle  with  this  foolish  prattle  the  purest 
of  all  names,  that  of  the  mother  of  God  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  true,  M.  le  cur6,  perhaps  there  is 
nothing  so  very  remarkable  about  the  miracle ;  I 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  215 

have  said  so  myself  a  great  many  times  to-day.  In 
the  first  place  the  child  is  very  artful." 

"  He  may  have  been  frightened,  and  taken  some 
very  natural  occurrence  for  a  marvellous  event — " 

"  Oh !  bless  me,  he  is  a  coward — as  great  a  coward 
as  his  mother  is  a  chatterbox.  Besides,  some  people 
see  double  at  night.  Now,  you  know,  M.  le  cure, 
there  is  always  room  for  doubt  in  all  the  won- 
derful things  that  take  place  at  night.  So  far  as 
the  boy  is  concerned,  as  a  man,  I  wish  him  well; 
but  as  mayor,  I  say  nothing.  Besides,  it  is  all  the 
same  to  me.  The  really  important  thing  is  to  have 
had  an  inspiration  from  God,  in  broad  daylight  be- 
fore everybody,  and  said :  '  My  lads,  take  your  pick- 
axes and  shovels,'  and  to  have  found  a  spring  that 
will  cure  all  kinds  of  diseases.  That  is  the  real  mir- 
acle, and  I  was  the  person  who  performed  it."  He 
was  becoming  more  and  more  excited.  "  Yes,  that 
is  truth,  that  is  justice ;  and  if  they  seek  to  rob  me 
of  my  due,  well ! — I  will  go  to  Jaw — I  will  go  to  law 
as  true  as  this  is  a  cane ;  and  I  will  gain  my  cause,  or 
there  is  no  justice  in  God,  no  truth  in  anything." 

"  You  do  not  know  what  you  are  talking  about," 
interrupted  the  priest  in  a  curt,  imperious  tone,  that 
astonished  the  mayor. 

At  that  moment  they  reached  the  square  before 
the  church,  where  they  were  immediately  surround- 
ed, and  pere  Baravoux,  however  anxious  he  might  be 
to  answer  the  cure's  incomprehensible  outburst,  Avas 
forced  to  content  himself  with  muttering  between 
his  teeth  a  stream  of  sentences  that  nobody  under- 
stood. 

Mere  Ribat  had  probably  already  related  what 
had  taken  place  at  the  White  Cross,  for  the  people 
who  were  present  approached  the  cure  whispering 
and  staring,  but  did  not  venture  to  speak  to  him. 
Besides,  the  expression  of  his  countenance  was  by  no 
means  encouraging ;  he  was  extremely  pale,  and 


216  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

walked  straight  on  without  looking  at  any  one.  Hav- 
ing crossed  the  square  under  the  fire  of  all  these 
curious  eyes,  he  advanced  towards  the  porch,  pushed 
open  the  door,  and  entered  the  church.  He  had  not 
expected  to  meet  any  one  there  at  that  hour ;  he 
hoped  to  avoid  all  conversation,  at  least  for  the  time, 
and  enter  his  house  by  way  of  the  vestry,  whose 
door  opened  into  his  little  garden. 

Great  was  his  surprise  to  perceive  in  the  centre  of 
the  church  a  group  of  men  and  women,  kneeling, 
not  before  the  altar,  but  in  front  of  that  glittering 
"  Flight  into  Egypt "  which  the  parish  owed  to  Clau- 
dius's generosity.  A  bouquet,  freshly  gathered  and 
placed  in  a  vase,  had  been  set  below  the  bas-relief, 
and  several  bits  of  candle  were  burning  near. 

Unfortunately  Abb6  Roche  was  not  a  man  for 
concessions  and  prudent  temporizing.  On  meeting 
again,  even  in  the  House  of  the  Lord,  the  pretended  mir- 
acle that  for  the  last  two  hours  had  been  rising  before 
him  like  a  phantom  at  every  turn,  it  seemed  to  him 
as  if  all  these  nasal  prayers  were  so  many  insults 
hurled  in  his  face,  whose  recoil  might  even  reach  the 
countess.  Walking  directly  up  to  the  bouquet,  he 
tore  it  from  the  vase,  dashed  it  against  the  wall,  over- 
turned the  candles  with  his  foot,  and  turning  to  the 
amazed  worshippers  said  with  tolerable  calmness : 
"  Leave  this  place  !  "  but  it  was  easy  to  perceive,  by 
the  sound  of  his^  voice,  that  at  the  lowest  murmur, 
the  slightest  gesture,  there  would  have  been  a  furious 
burst  of  anger. 

He  folded  his  arms,  and  looking  steadily  at  the 
crowd,  waited  until  every  one  had  gone  ;  then  turned 
towards  the  door,  locked  it  carefully,  and  put  the 
key  in  his  pocket.  He  heard  outside  the  dull  buzz- 
ing of  excited  and  indignant  voices.  When  he  had 
reached  his  room,  he  murmured  :  "  O  Lord  !  if  I 
have  done  wrong,  punish  me,  or  teach  me  what  I 


AROUND  A  SPUING.  217 

to  do,  for  if  this  should  continue  I  shall  soon 

i 

go  mad ! " 

Indeed,  he  could  not  remain  in  this  situation  for 
any  length  of  time ;  he  must  put  an  end  to  it  in  some 
way. 

He  held  the  most  extreme  views  respecting 
his  duties,  his  honor  as  a  priest;  and  the  thought 
of  permitting  a  falsehood  to  receive  public  cre- 
dence through  his  weakness,  seemed  to  him  a  disgrace 
that  it  was  impossible  to  endure.  Again  the  plan 
of  making  a  frank  confession  recurred  to  his  mind  ; 
but  before  doing  so,  he  must  speak  to  the  countess. 
He  was  about  leaving  his  room  to  go  to  the  chateau 
by  a  roundabout  way,  when  he  heard  a  loud  knock- 
ing at  the  door. 


XXVI. 

"  Open  the  door,  open  the  door,  my  dear  cure";  it  is 
I,  M.  Larreau." 

The  priest  obeyed.  "  Ah  !  there  you  are  at  last ! 
God  bless  you  !  Where  have  you  been  hiding  ?  But 
what  is  the  matter  ?  You  are  as  white  as  a  pocket- 
handkerchief.  Are  you  ill  ?  That  would  be  the  cli- 
max of  our  trouble." 

"  I  am  perfectly  well,  thank  you.  "What  do  you 
want  of  me  ? " 

"  Ah !  you  can  boast  of  having  puzzled  me  con- 
foundedly. I  have  sent  to  your  house  ten  timeSj  but 
always  found  you  absent." 

"  I  regret  it." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  but  confess  that  I  had  far 
more  reason  for  regret  than  you.  After  all  that  had 
taken  place,  you  must  understand  that  my  position 
was  peculiarly  embarrassing'.'' 

"  Yet  I  do  not  comprehend  you,  Monsieur,  and 
most  assuredly  do  not  see  why  my  absence  should 


218  ABOUND  A  8PEING. 

have  occasioned  you  the  slightest  embarrassment 
Besides,  my  absence,  at  which  some  one  else  has  also 
expressed  surprise,  was  extremely  natural.  I  went  to 
visit  Loursiere,  whose  daughter  had  died  during  the 
night.  I  was  about  going  to  tell  the  news  to  Mine, 
de  Manteigney,  who  is  interested  in  her." 

"  Oh  !  that  would  be  quite  useless.  My  daughter 
can  see  no  one  to-day,  she  is  ill.  I  only  saw  her  for 
an  instant,  and  she  had  scarcely  strength  to  say  three 
words.  What !  is  the  little  savage  dead  ?  I  was 
just  going  to  speak  to  her  father.  You  are  surpris- 
ed that  your  absence  should  have  been  a  source  of 
embarrassment.  That  is  very  flattering  to  me;  but 
listen,  my  dear  friend,  I  am  not  accustomed  to 
these  things,  and  this  miracle,  so  suddenly  perform- 
ed, the  whole  country  in  a  tumult — rather  too  much 
of  an  excitement,  I  confess.  Don't  you  think  the 
affair  is  going  on  a  little  too  fast  ?  " 

He  said  these  words  with  the  utmost  ease  and 
gayety. 

"  Speak  more  plainly,  I  beg  of  you.  I  am  aware 
that  the  village  has  been  much  excited  this  morning 
by  the  story  of  a  child,  in  consequence  of  which,  I 
am  told,  a  spring  has  been  discovered — nothing  very 
extraordinary  in  this  country.  That  is  all  I  know, 
and  I  regret  it,  deeply  regret  it." 

"  This  cure'  is  cool  enough,  certainly,"  thought  M. 
Larreau ;  "  it  would  be  droll  if  I  should  be  obliged 
to  console  him."  And  smiling  at  the  idea,  in  spite  of 
himself,  he  continued  :  "  What's  to  be  done,  my  dear 
cure,  let  us  reason  together.  Let  us  talk  as  friends. 
It  is  true  that  the  credulity  of  the  masses  is  a  source 
of  regret,  when  intriguing  men  turn  it  to  their  own 
advantage,  with  the  shamelessness,  I  might  almost 
call  it,  that  is  the  result  of  a  blind  egotism ;  but  on 
the  «jontrary,  when  this  credulity,  this  simplicity — it 
has  its  poesy  and  grandeur,  too,  when  we  take  a  lofty 
view  of  things — when  this  simplicity  leads  a  popula- 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  219 

tion  towards  intelligent,  devoted,  disinterested  men 
— disinterested  in  human  measures,  be  it  understood 
— towards  men  who  will  be  able  to  secure  their  hap- 
piness and  prosperity,  oh  !  then.  Providence — I  speak 
seriously — Providence  sometimes  employs  strange 
means  to  attain  its  ends  :  it  is  not  for  us  to  criticize 
the  opportunity.  We  speak  of  providential  men ; 
but  are  not  all  intelligent  men  somewhat  so  ?  Above 
all  individual  and  fleeting  missions,  there  is  the  irre- 
sistible march  of  Progress,  that  is,  of  intelligence, 
wealth,  improvement,  moral  activity,  the  increase  of 
commerce,  greater  facilities  for  business — in  short  the 
advance  of  nations  in  morality.  I  have  my  religion, 
too,  my  dear  cure,  my  dogmas,  my  principles.  I  have 
the  faith  natural  to  a  successful  man,  whose  whole  ca- 
reer has  been  an  argument  in  favor  of  Progress. 
Ah  !  I  speak  to  you  in  all  frankness,  for  it  is  but  right 
that  you  should  understand  me  perfectly.  My  mis- 
sion has  been  to  hasten  the  development  of  public 
wealth,  or  in  other  words,  to  increase  the  power  of 
capital  by  conceiitration.  Force  and  speed  are  really 
one  and  the  same  thing.  Where  there  is  no  quick- 
ness, there  is  no  strength !  There  is  no  power  with- 
out concentration  !  A  cloud  of  steam  is  nothing  : 
concentrate  it  in  a  solid  receiver  and  you  have  a  lo- 
comotive. It  is  the  same  thing  in  morals  and  poli- 
tics. Now,  in  our  times,  the  providential  instrument 
which  serves  to  concentrate  everything — is  the  capi- 
talist. Scattered  riches,  accumulating  in  his  hands, 
become  powerful  and  fruitful.  Once  more,  my  dear 
cure",  let  us  look  at  things  as  a  whole,  and  from  an  el- 
evated point  of  view." 

Abbe  Roche,  erect  and  motionless,  with  contract- 
ed eyebrows,  and  hands  clenched  on  the  back  of  a 
chair,  stood  listening,  and  gazing  at  the  rich  man  so 
intently  that  the  latter  was,  for  an  instant,  thrown  off 
his  guard. 

"  In  short,"  said  he,  after  coughing  several  times, 


220  AROUND  A   SP1UXG. 

"  I  do  not  intend,  I  do  not  wish  to  reproach  you,  my 
good  friend ;  I  had  not  expected  so  striking  a  scene, 
I  confess ;  if  we  had  understood  each  other  better, 
we  might  have  hit  upon  something  more  simple  and 
less  compromising;  but  after  all — when  the  wine  is 
poured  out,  as  the  saying  goes,  we  must  drink  it." 

At  that  moment,  M.  Larreau  Avas  interrupted  by 
the  noise  of  a  chair  suddenly  breaking.  Whether  the 
cure  had  leaned  too  heavily  upon  one  whose  back  he 
was  grasping,  or  whether  his  hands  had  suddenly 
contracted  with  unusual  violence,  the  chair  was  crush- 
ed to  pieces. 

"  Apropos  of  chairs  and  miracles,  you  don't  man- 
age either  with  a  light  hand,  my  dear  friend,"  ob- 
served the  countess's  father  gayly. 

If  Abbe  Roche,  instead  of  being  partly  in  the 
shadow,  had  been  standing  where  his  iace  was  more 
distinctly  visible,  it  is  probable  that  our  providential 
capitalist  would  have  kept  his  last  remark  to1  himself. 
The  countenance  of  the  priest,  hitherto  so  pale,  was 
now  flushed,  and  quivered  convulsively;  the  veins 
in  his  forehead  and  neck  were  swollen,  and  his  irreg- 
ular, panting  breath  seemed  like  that  of  a  man  who 
had  been  running  violently. 

"  Go  on,"  said  he  in  a  stifled  tone;  "  go  on,  go  on, 
I  want  to  know  all.  Go  on,  do  not  trouble  yourself 
about  me." 

"  You  seem  to  be  agitated,  my  dear  cure,  and  you 
are  wrong.  Besides,  it  is  not  necessary  to  exagger- 
ate the  consequences  of  that  story ;  true,  it  might  be- 
come compi-omising  in  the  hands  of  awkward  peo- 
ple ;  but  it  is  not  with  us.  I  only  regret  a  little  ex- 
cess of  zeal.  It  would  have  been  suflicient  to  have 
instantly  placed  the  spring,  found  no  matter  how,  by 
chance,  in  an  almost  providential  manner,  under  the 
protection  of  the  Virgin.  I  said  almost ;  that  would 
1m  3  been  suflicient.  Masses  of  thanksgiving,  en- 
dowments for  commemoration  masses, — consecration 


AROUND  A  SPEING.  221 

of  a  hospital  by  the  bishop,  erection  of  a  church  ded- 
icated to  Our  Lady  of  Manteigney,  would  have  been 
a  six  months'  affair — of  stone  and  cast  iron, — it  would 
be  solid,  and  could  be  finished  quickly;  it  would  only 
be  necessary  to  send  the  proportions.  The  building 
would  be  erected,  of  course,  by  means  of  a  subscrip- 
tion throughout  France.  An  excellent  thing  for  re- 
ligion, an  excellent  affair  for  my  springs  too.  Sub- 
scribers' names  upon  slabs  of  black  or  white  marble, 
according  to  the  amount  of  the  sum  paid,  pilgrimage 
of  art,  etc.  We  should  not  be  refused  a  relic,  if  we 
asked  for  it  politely.  I  have  a  great  many  acquaint- 
ances. Once  establish  the  springs  of  Manteigney, 
particularly  beneficial  for  irritation  of  the  larynx; 
build  a  house  for  the  reception  of  convalescents,  cot- 
tages specially  for  clergymen,  a  model  casino,  and  a 
railway  line ;  issue  a  Catholic  medical  pamphlet  prais- 
ing the  therapeutic  wonders  of  the  spring,  which  had 
been  almost  providentially  found,  I  repeat  almost; 
oh !  that  would  have  been  sufficient,  the  public  would 
have  done  the  rest.  Researches  into  the  history  of 
the  country,  controversies,  discussions,  excavations — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  am  beginning  to  understand,''  mur- 
mured the  priest.. 

u  Of  course !  And  thus,  without  the  slightest  dif- 
ficulty or  theatrical  display,  we  should  have  accom- 
plished our  little  stratagem.  We  shall  attain  the 
same  result,  I  hope,  by  the  present  arrangement," 
which  is  perhaps  bolder  and  more  rapid,  but  less  sure ; 
and,  under  any  circumstances,  gives  the  enterprise  a 
different  character — a  totally  different  character." 

M.  Larreau  hesitated  a  moment,  tapped  his  snuff 
box,  winked  his  left  eye,  and  continued : 

"  Let  us  speak  frankly.  In  business  matters  we 
must  play  with  our  cards  on  the  table.  You  did  not 
expect,  by  entering  upon  the  affair  so  energetically, 
to  obtain  a  share  in  the  profits  of  the  enterprise  ?  It 


222  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

is  not  at  all  probable  that  your  actions  were  influ 
enced  by  such  an  idea,  is  it,  my  dear  cur6  ?  " 

"  It  must  be  confessed,  Monsieui-,  that  you  are  a 
very  frank  scoundrel ! "  said  Abbe  Roche. 

Violent  as  his  efforts  had  been  to  control  himself 
and  hear  the  spout-maker,  who  was  at  last  unveiling 
his  true  character,  to  the  end,  he  could  bear  no  more. 
He  continued  :  "  I  now  understand  the  service  you 
have  been  asking  at  my  hands ;  1  o  aid  your  specula- 
tion by  sacrilege  and  perjury ;  to  write  the  name  of 
God  upon  your  prospectus  with  my  own  hand ;  hang 
my  priestly  garments  at  the  door  of  your  shop ;  sell 
my  conscience,  wallow  in  the  mud  of  your  spring. 
Then  in  my  place,  you  would  have  been  capable  of 
doing  all  this  !  " 

And  as  the  wrathful  Hercules  approached,  the 
millionaire  turned  pale. 

"  Are  you  jesting,  my  dear  friend  ?  "  he  stammer- 
ed ;  "  what  is  the  matter,  what  have  I  said  ?  Wait  a 
moment,  I  have  not  explained  myself  correctly.  A 
priest's  robe  is  sacred  to  me,  I  assure  you." 

Abbe  Roche  had  turned  away,  and  with  his  arms 
folded  across  his  breast,  was  thinking :  "  The  first 
time  he  saw  me,  he  said  to  himself:  '  That  is  the 
very  man  I  want ! '  So  I  look  like  a  scoundrel  ?  For 
more  than  a  year  he  has  considered  me  no  better  than 
himself,  studied  my  character,  sounded  me,  and  I  did 
not  understand ! " 

Larreau,  reassured  by  the  apparent  calmness  of 
the  priest,  recovered  his  self-command,  thrust  his 
hands  into  his  pockets,  and  advancing  in  his  turn,  ex- 
claimed :  "  But,  my  dear  fellow,  you  adopt  a  very 
singular  manner  towards  me,  and  I  think  it  extremely 
presuming.  Perhaps  you  do  not  know  that  you  are 
addressing  a  man  whom  every  one  respects ;  who — to 
whom  even  the  ministers  are  deferential,  and  who 
could  crush  you  under  foot  if  he  chose." 

"  Try  it,  scoundrel !  "  replied  Abbe  Roche,  draw- 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  223 

ing  himself  up  to  the  full  height  of  his  tall  figure. 
He  looked  so  noble,  so  proud  in  this  outburst  of  in- 
dignation, his  eyes  had  such  an  expression  of  pro- 
found contempt,  that  the  capitalist,  spite  of  his  rela- 
tions to  the  ministers,  was  intimidated. 

"  After  all,"  said  he,  "  let  us  cut  the  matter  short, 
and  not  get  angry  with  each  other.  I  perhaps  gave 
you  to  understand,  in  previous  conversations,  that 
there  was  in  this  country,  on  the  estates  of  Manteig- 
ney,  a  spring  of  mineral  water,  hitherto  unknown, 
which  I  intended  to  make  useful.  I  have  perhaps 
also  informed  you  that  your  aid,  your  sympathy,  your 
moral  influence  would  be  of  great  assistance  to  me. 
That  is  true ;  but  are  you  sure  of  having  correctly 
understood  wrhat  I  told  you  ?  People  don't  act  on 
the  strength  of  mere  words.  You  have,  so  far  as  I 
know,  no  paper  signed  with  my  name  requesting  you 
even  in  the  most  ambiguous  terms  to  perform  upon 
the  highway  the  masquerade  displayed  that  night. 
You  thought  it  would  be  more  advantageous  to  you 
to  act  without  my  advice  and  approbation, — and  you 
crown  your  master-piece  by  speaking  insolently  to 
me  !  You  think  I  am  compromised  ;  you  think  you 
can  hold  me, — but,  my  dear  friend,  you  don't  know 
even  the  first  move  of  this  game :  you  are  a  child, 
Monsieur  1'abbe." 

"  Very  childish  and  very  foolish,  certainly,  since  I 
did  not  see  at  once  that  you  were  the  greatest  scoun- 
drel that  ever  lived." 

"  No  more  such  speeches,  or  you  will  find  that 
they  may  have  a  disagreeable  result.  Devil  take  it ! 
I  like  your  simplicity.  Do  you  pretend  to  say  that 
you  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  apparition  which  was 
seen  that  night  ?  Is  that  what  you  mean  ?  Oh  !  I 
ask  nothing  better.  Explain  yourself — exculpate  your- 
self. Prove  that  you  were  in  bed  at  that  hour  and 
neither  invented  nor  planned  the  jest.  I  am  listen- 
ing; come,  come,  I  am  all  ears." 


224  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

"  Have  you  really  the  audacity  to  question  me  ? 
And  in  whose  name,  by  what  right  ?  Why  are  you 
here  ?  Do  you  not  perceive  that  I  can  scarcely  cqn- 
trol  myself,  that  I  should  consider  it  the  greatest 
possible  disgrace  to  vindicate  myself  to  you ;  that 
people  only  explain  their  actions  in  presence -of  a 
judge  whom  they  can  respect ;  that  your  voice  irri- 
tates me,  that  my  anger  is  increasing  " — he  slowly  ap- 
proached as  he  uttered  the  words,  and  unfolded  his 
arms — "  and  that  instead  of  answering  you,  I  intend 
to  slap  you  in  the  face  ?  " 

"  Fool,"  cried  M.  Larreau,  hastily  opening  the 
door, "you  shall  pay  for  this!  " 

And  he  disappeared. 


XXVII. 

On  the  following  morning,  at  a  very  early  hour, 
the  countess,  much  more  closely  wrapped  than  usual, 
hastened  towards  the  priest's  dwelling.  Her  bearing 
no  longer  possessed  the  ease,  the  charming  careless- 
ness that  formerly  characterized  it !  She  was  anxious, 
restless,  and  trembled  at  the  thought  of  meeting  any 
one  as  she  hurried  rapidly  on.  It  really  seemed  to 
her  as  if  the  little  shepherd,  surrounded  by  all  the 
villagers,  was  waiting  at  every  turn  in  the  road  to  ex- 
claim, as  soon  as  she  appeared  :  "  There  is  the  lady  I 
saw  near  the  White  Cross."  Who  knows  whether 
the  truth  was  not  already  suspected  ?  At  the  sim- 
plest question,  she  should  surely  lose  all  self-com- 
mand, and  reply  in  spite  of  herself:  "  Yes,  it  was  I." 

She  had  remained  shut  up  in  her  own  room  during 
the  whole  of  the  preceding  day,  looking  out  of  her 
window  at  the  throngs  of  curious  peasants  hastening 
to  the  valley,  questioning  her  maid,  trying  to  laugh 
at  the  girl's  stories,  and  when  she  stopped,  racking 
her  braiii«to  find  a  pretext  for  asking  anew.  Soon 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  225 

she  feared  that  her  prolonged  stay  in  her  private 
apartments  might  arouse  suspicions  among  the  serv- 
ants in  the  chateau,  and  therefore  went  down  in  the 
evening  to  the  drawing-room,  where  she  found  her 
father,  who,  still  under  the  influence  of  ill-concealed 
wrath,  had  spoken  in  very  threatening  terms  of  Abbe 
Roche.  Perceiving  that  this  state  of  affairs  must  be 
ended  as  quickly  as  possible,  she  set  out  for  the  priest's 
abode.  When  the  cure  opened  the  door,  she  entered. 
hastily,  sank  into  a  chair,  threw  back  her  hood,  and 
clasping  her  hands,  exclaimed : 

"  Good  Heavens !  my  dear  cure",  what  have  you 
done — what  have  you  said  to  my  father  ? " 

If  there  was  any  one  to  whom  the  priest  desired 
to  explain  his  conduct,  it  was  certainly  the  countess ; 
but  just  as  he  was  about  to  open  his  lips  and  relieve 
his  heart,  he  remembered  that  it  was  unworthy  of  him 
to  accuse  a  father  to  his  own  daughter,  and  said 
quietly :  "  Certain  words  spoken  by  M.  Larreau 
wounded  me  deeply,  and  I  resented  them  somewhat 
vehemently.  That  is  all." 

"  That  is  all,  that  is  all !  And  you  think  that  per- 
fectly natural?  Then  you  do  not  know  that  my 
father  is  the  best  of  men,  the  most  kind  hearted  and 
scrupulous."  (Abbe  Roche  could  not  restrain  a  ges- 
ture of  surprise.)  "  Yes,  yes,  the  most  scrupulous 
and  honorable.  Well !  my  father  has  the  faults  nat- 
ural to  his  tempei-ament ;  he  is  sensitive,  and  never 
pardons  an  insult.  He  is  very  angry,  and  is  going  to 
search  and  inquire  into  everything;  he  wishes  to  dis- 
cover the  truth,  and  he  will,  for  papa  always  succeeds 
in  everything  he  undertakes." 

"  Oh !  Heaven,"  cried  the  priest,  "  let  him  ascer- 
tain !  I  wish  it,  I  prefer  the  truth,  whatever  its  conse- 
quences may  be,  to  the  shameful  position  in  which  I 
am  now." 

"  If  all  is  kept  secret,  there  will  be  no  shame  for 
you  to  bear." 
15 


226  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

'  If  I  only  had  cause  to  blush  when  alone,  it  would 
be  too  much.  And  the  anguish  of  seeing  a  lie  he- 
come  a  religious  belief — do  you  count  that  as  noth- 
ing ?  Am  I  not  a  priest,  a  Christian,  Madame  ?  No, 
no,  there  must  be  an  end  to  all  this  ! " 

"  You  are  an  egotist,  you  think  only  of  yourself. 
Do  you  forget  that  the  scandal  will  recoil  upon  the 
count  and  myself?  How  will  you  explain  our  noc- 
turnal excursion  ?  You  will  tell  the  truth,  I  Avish  you 
to  do  so,  but  who  will  believe  you  ?  Besides,  have 
you  a  right  to  dispose  of  a  secret  that  I  entrusted  to 
your  loyalty  ?  Will  you  also  say,  the  more  complete- 
ly to  vindicate  yourself  that  the  count  betrayed 
Loursiere's  daughter  ?  Will  you  relate  in  public  the 
confidences  I  have  given  you  ?  You  will  be  compel- 
led to  do  so ;  when  people  tell  the  truth,  they  must 
tell  the  whole  truth.  By  so  doing,  you  will  perhaps 
act  the  part  of  a  good  priest ;  but  I  doubt  whether 
such  would  be  the  conduct  of  an  honorable  man. 
How  is  it  possible  that  you  did  not  understand  all 
this?  Why  did  you  not  conciliate  my  father?  I 
would  have  confessed  the  truth  by  degrees,  every- 
thing would  have  become  quiet,  and  the  adventure 
been  forgotten  ere  long — while  now,  my  father,  vexed 
and  irritated,  thanks  to  you,  asserts  that  he  must  dis- 
cover this  mystery;  that  his  honor  is  concerned  in  it; 
he  says  he  does  not'wish  to  take  the  responsibility  of 
.these  fooleries,  and  will  doubtless  immediately  ask 
the  bishop  to  make  a  serious  investigation.  Oh  !  how 
wretched  I  am !  " 

She  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  and  contin- 
ued, in  a  very  gentle  tone :  "  You  are  harsh,  M.  le 
cure,  harsh  towards  others.  You  perhaps  mistake 
for  virtue  what  is  only  austerity.  And  suppose  I, 
too,  wished  to  confess  the  whole  truth?  Suppose  I 
questioned  my  memory,  do  you  not  think  I  might  find 
causes  of  resentment  against  people  who  consider 
themselves  beyond  reproach?  You  place  a  high 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  227 

value  upon  your  dignity  as  a  priest,  your  honor  as  a 
man ;  do  you  think,  Monsieur,  that  I  have  neither 
dignity  nor  honor  as  a  woman,  and  that  I  have  no 
right  to  be  indignant  when  insulted  ?  A  few  words 
from  my  father,  somewhat  hastily  spoken,  perhaps, 
have  urged  you  to  violence — which  has  been  extreme, 
if  I  can  judge  from  the  resentment  it  excited.  Why 
should  not  I  too  be  enraged,  when  forced  to  submit 
not  only  to  impulsive  words,  but  unheard-of  acts — 
yes,  Monsieur,  unheard  of,  especially  coming  from 
you  ?  Yet  I,  who  am  no  saint,  who  do  not  consider 
myself  above  human  weaknesses, — I,  whose  duty  is 
not,  after  all,  to  give  an  example  of  the  virtues,  I  am 
silent,  and  wish  to  forget.  It  is  strange  that  you  have 
not  courage  to  keep  silence  as  well  as  I." 

While  the  countess  spoke,  Abbe  Roche,  amazed 
and  motionless,  did  not  utter  a  single  word,  and  yet 
many  thoughts  had  passed  through  his  mind.  He 
was  like  a  culprit  listening  to  a  sentence  from  which 
there  couid  be  no  appeal ;  but  even  while  he  felt  sor- 
row at  hearing  himself  thus  condemned,  he  shared  the 
emotions  of  his  judge,  followed  each  thought  depicted 
upon  the  young  wife's  face,  and  gradually  forgetting 
himself  in  her,  shared  her  impressions.  He  was  at 
the  bar  of  the  accused  and  on  the  bench  of  the  judge 
at  one  and  the  same  time.  "  Yes,"  thought  he,  "  Abb6 
Roche  is  a  proud  fool,  and  we  are  too  indulgent  to 
him." 

He  forgot  Larreau  and  his  insults  to  think  only 
of  his  own  conduct.  He  had  acted  the  part  of  a  vio- 
lent, brutal,  and  unjust  man.  That  was  evident,  for 
she  said  so.  He  accepted  his  sentence  with  embar- 
rassment, even  took  an  undue  share  of  blame,  and 
found  a  strange  joy  in  reproaching  himself  for  indulg- 
ing in  anger.  He  believed  that  he  was  convinced  by 
the  countess's  reasoning,  when  only  charmed  and  dax- 
zled  by  her  presence ;  and  thought  he  saw  more  clear- 
ly, because  he  no  longer  looked  with  his  own  eyes. 


228  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

His  predominant  emotion  was  the  irritating,  perhaps 
guilty,  but  delightful  thought  that  he  could  not  drive 
away :  the  countess  and  himself  were  henceforward 
bound  together  by  the  same  interests,  the  same  fears, 
the  same  hopes.  Chance  had  formed  ties  between 
them  which  they  could  not  sunder. 

Angelic  creature !  She  still  deigned  to  come  to 
his  dwelling,  reproached  him  for  his  shameful  conduct 
with  a  gentleness  of  which  he  was  unworthy,  and,  to 
utterly  overwhelm  him,  granted  him  forgetfulness  of 
it  —  almost  forgiveness.  He  would  have  liked  to 
throw  himself  at  the  feet  of  his  judge,  kiss  her  very 
footprints,  and  say  to  her :  "  I  belong  to  you,  my  life 
is  yours,"  for  it  was  in  silent  shame,  patiently  endured, 
that  he  now  saw  nobleness  and  courage. 

"  Command,  Madame,"  said  he  in  deep  agitation, 
"  command,  I  will  do  whatever  you  wish.  I  have  of- 
fended you — forgive  me." 

"  Promise  me  to  say  nothing,  that  is  all  I  ask. 
Let  me  be  the  one  to  act, — I  will  soothe  my  father. 
You  promise  neither  to  approve  nor  condemn  any- 
thing— for  a  few  days  ?  You  see  this  is  the  only  way 
to  put  an  end  to  the  whole  affair,  and  that  there  is  no 
other  course  to  adopt  in  the  interest  of  all  parties. 
Does  not  G«xl  judge  of  our  intentions?  You  will 
say  nothing,  you  assure  me  ?  " 

She  had  pronounced  the  last  words  with  a  voice 
so  sweet,  a  smile  so  alluring ;  she  had  appealed  to 
his  generosity  with  so  much  confidence,  that  he  mur- 
mured almost  with  tears  :  "  I  will  be  silent,  I  promise 
you.  I  will  be  silent." 

"  The  silence  may  be  somewhat  hard  to  bear  for 
one  of  your  temperament :  but  make  this  little  sacri- 
fice, my  dear  cure,  make  it  for  my  sake,  I  implore 
you.  It  is  no  act  of  weakness  that  is  asked  of  you ; 
there  is  nothing  disgraceful  in  permitting  a  fire  of 
straw  to  die  out  of  itself,  and  abstaining  from  blow- 
ing upon  it  through  excess  of  zeal ;  " — then,  with  a 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  229 

most  confidential  manner,  she  added :  "  You  have 
been  very  anxious  about  this  affair,  very  much  an- 
noyed, have  you  not  ?  I  can  read  it  in  your  face." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  assure  you  I  have."  He  felt  soothed, 
enchanted  by  the  sweetness  of  the  voice  he  loved  so 
well. 

"  And  I  too  !  If  you  knew  in  what  a  state  I 
nave  been  !  I  thought  of  you,  and  said  to  myself: 
'  If  he  only  does  not  allow  anything  that  could  com- 
promise us  to  escape ;  if  he  does  not  attach  any  im- 
portance to  these  rumors,  does  not  believe  himself 
under  obligations  to  deny  this  absurd  apparition, 
and  thus  complicate  the  affair  instead  of  simplifying 
it ! '  When  I  was  told  yesterday  that  you  had  driven 
all  the  people  who  were  praying  out  of  the  church,  I 
was  terrified." 

"It  is  true,  I  did  wrong;  I  was  excited,  beside 
myself."  He  was  ashamed  of  the  violence  whose 
mere  recital  had  alarmed  her. 

"  You  are  right,  we  must  keep  calm,  we  must  on 
every  account.  Even  in  the  interests  of  religion,  it  is 
the  best  thing  to  do.  The  church  is  open  this  morn- 
ing, and  will  remain  so,  I  assure  you." 

"  Well,  I  will  profit  by  it,  and  am  now  going  to 
pray  to  the  good  God  for  that  poor  child.1' 

"  We  have  said  nothing  about  her ;  she  is  dead, 
poor  little  thing !  It  is  wrong  to  judge  her  too 
severely." 

"  Certainly,  certainly.  And  what  did  her  father 
say  when  you  gave  him — you  know  ?  " 

"  He  was  very  much  agitated,  and  accepted  it, 
blessing  your  generosity." 

"  Generosity  which  he  forced  from  me  with  his 
hand  on  my  throat.  Well !  And  the  child,  where  is 
it?" 

"  At  Marianne's  house,  where  I  carried  it  myself." 

"  So  near  here  ?  See  how  selfish  people  are  !  I 
shall  accustom  myself  to  the  thought ;  but  at  the  first 


230  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

moment,  it  is  a  painful  one.     Yet  I  do  not  wish  the 
poor  little  thing  any  harm.     Farewell,  M.  le  cure." 

And,  wrapping  herself  in  her  cloak,  she  added : 
"  I  shall  conceal  my  face,  the  villagers  frighten  me." 

"  Will  you  pass  through  the  vestry  ?  Then  you 
will  not  be  obliged  to  go  all  the  way  round." 

Although  there  was  no  one  in  the  church,  Mme. 
de  Manteigney  took  refuge  in  the  darkest  corner, 
and  began  to  pray  fervently  for  the  repose  of  the 
dead  girl's  soul.  She  was  embarrassed  as  she  ap- 
pealed to  God  in  behalf  of  the  poor  child,  for  she 
could  not  think  of  her  sudden  death  without  a  feeling 
strangely  like  relief.  She  pitied  the  unfortunate  girl, 
but  could  not  entirely  conceal  from  herself  that  her 
death  simplified  many  things,  calmed  her  anxieties, 
and  cut  short,  at  least  for  the  present,  the  count's  fol- 
lies. It  was  a  misfortune,  an  accident,  a  circumstance, 
which  under  certain  contingencies  might  prove  a  ben- 
efit. Then,  having  informed  the  Lord  that  she  was 
about  to  address  her  prayers  to  Him  for  the  repose 
of  the  soul  of  Loursiere's  daughter,  she  piously  re- 
cited a  number  of  Paters  and  Aves,  without  any  far- 
ther thought  of  her  for  whose  sake  they  were  uttered. 
But  from  time  to  time  a  shiver  ran  through  her  whole 
frame,  and  from  the  depths  of  her  heart  she  ex- 
claimed :  "  O  Lord  !  O  Lord  !  turn  the  count's 
affection  towards  me ;  grant  that  he  may  love  me ;  I 
will  strive  so  earnestly  to  make  him  happy ! " 

While  thus  absorbed  in  prayer,  she  heard  an  al- 
most incessant  noise  of  footsteps  behind  her,  and 
when,  having  concluded  her  devotions,  she  turned, 
was  not  surprised  to  see  a  group  of  women  on 
their  knees  before  the  famous  bas-relief  presented 
by  Claudius.  She  cast  a  hasty  glance  at  the  Flight 
into  Egypt — the  Virgin  resembled  her.  There  re- 
ally was  a  resemblance,  and  Saint  Joseph,  with  the 
exception  of  his  beard,  was  an  excellent  likeness 
of  Abb6  Roche.  She  drew  down  her  veil  and 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  231 

moved  rapidly  on.  Every  head  was  turned  towards 
her.  Several  women  were  eagerly  talking  together 
in  the  porch,  but  became  silent  at  her  approach,  and 
one  of  them,  advancing  to  meet  the  countess,  made 
a  low  courtesy. 

''  What  do  you  want  of  me,  my  good  woman  ?  " 

"  Why !  the  countess  has  just  been  praying  for 
the  miracle,  of  course.  I  am  the  mother  of  the  lad, 
a  child  who  never  caused  his  parents  the  slightest  sor- 
row. Wouldn't  Madame  like  to  speak  to  my  boy  ? 
Everybody  else  has  heard  his  story." 

"  No.  thank  you,  good  mother." 

"  With  all  the  particulars !  " 

"  I  cannot  stop,  I  am  in  a  hurry." 

"  That  is  because  Madame  has  heard  that  it  Avas 
not  my  boy  wrho  found  the  spring,  and  yet  he  was  the 
one  who  told  everything." 

"  I  do  not  deny  it,  but  I  have  not  time." 

"  Then  the  countess  will  remember  that  all  they 
say  is  only  to  injure  poor  people." 

Several  other  women  approached.  "  Let  me  pass," 
said  the  countess,  "  some  one  is  waiting  for  me." 
And  she  hastened  on. 

Fifteen  minutes  later,  the  whole  village  knew  that 
Mme.  de  Manteigney  had  been  praying  on  account 
of  the  miracle.  Some  persons  even  asserted  that  she 
had  placed  a  bouquet  before  the  bas-relief. 


xxm. 

Contrary  to  the  countess's  hopes,  the  excitement 
in  the  village  did  not  abate.  The  wrathful  lamenta- 
tions of  mere  Ribat,  who  gradually  yielded  to  the 
most  violent  fanaticism,  had  borne  their  fruit.  All 
who,  for  any  reason,  were  jealous  or  envious  of 
Mayor  Baravoux,  all  who  thought  his  oxen  too  large, 
his  house  too  handsome,  his  fields  too  green,  or  his 


232  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

figure  too  portly,  had  rallied  around  the  good  peasant 
woman,  the  devoted  mother  who  so  bravely  defended 
the  cause  of  the  poor.  As  usually  happens,  the  ques- 
tion had  changed  its  aspect,  and  from  an  individual 
fact  became  a  general  principle,  in  which  every  one 
found  food  for  argument.  The  Virgin,  Saint  Joseph, 
and  the  poor  ass  had  really  very  little  to  do  with  the 
matter.  The  point  in  question  now  was  to  ascertain 
whether  a  mayor,  merely  because  he  owned  a  stone 
house,  two  pairs  of  oxen,  a  tri-colored  scarf,  and 
pasture  lands,  had  a  right  to  interpose  between  Prov- 
idence and  the  poor,  a  right  to  snatch  the  bread  from 
the  mouths  of  his  subordinates,  and  intercept  the 
heavenly  rays  by  his  huge  person.  Then  other  indi- 
viduals rose  to  defend  Baravoux,  and  the  debates 
grew  so  stormy  that  one  evening  they  actually  came 
to  blows. 

The  mayor,  whose  nerves,  to  use  a  common  ex- 
pression, were  strained  like  the  strings  of  a  violin,  to 
expend  a  portion  of  his  anger,  gave  orders  that  the 
inn  of  the  Sapin  Vert  should  be  closed  at  the  sound 
of  the  Angelus.  This  was  pouring  oil  upon  the 
flames.  The  excitement  increased,  some  were  indig- 
nant, others  shouted  bravo.  In  short,  every  one  was 
forced  to  take  sides,  and  declare  his  opinion  publicly. 
Naturally,  the  numbers  who  visited  the  spring  visibly 
increased,  so  that  after  having  erected  a  palisade  to 
protect  the  miraculous  hole,  it  was  soon  found  neces- 
sary to  protect  the  palisade  itself,  and  two  gendarmes 
from  the  city  mounted  guard. 

If  Grand-Fort-le-Haut  was  greatly  excited,  the 
town  of  Virez  was  terribly  agitated.  The  question 
Avhether  Baravoux  or  mere  Kibat  would  gain  the  day 
had,  it  is  true,  but  a  secondary  importance ;  but  the 
discussions  were  none  the  less  violent.  Abbe  Vilain, 
cur6  of  Virez,  had  not — the  avowal  must  be  made, 
whatever  it  cost  us — had  not  any  great  sympathy 
with  Abb6  Roche,  his  brother  at  Grand  Fort.  It  was 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  233 

not  that  he  had  any  special  cause  of  complaint  against 
him  ;  But  Nature  had  formed  the  two  men  in  moulds 
too  widely  dissimilar  for  them  ever  to  understand 
and  sympathize  with  each  other.  One  was  tall,  ro- 
bust, active,  grave,  fond  of  long  walks,  fatigue,  and 
manly  exercises ;  the  other,  on  the  contrary,  short,  fat, 
careless  and  indolent,  adoring  meditations  hi  the 
shade,  calmness,  repose,  cheerful  and  dainty  meals. 
Their  moral  natures  were  in  perfect  harmony  with 
their  physical  temperaments,  and  traces  of  this  dis- 
similarity might  be  detected  in  the  trifling  particulars 
of  their  lives ;  they  were  especially  prominent,  when 
the  two  abb6s  played  a  game  of  bowls  together  after 
vespers. 

Abb6  Yilain,  a  prudent,  skilful  player,  exceeding- 
ly deliberate  in  his  combinations,  studied  the  ground 
and  understood  how  to  take  advantage  of  the  slopes  : 
the  obstacle  of  a  patch  of  gravel,  the  collisions,  the 
rebounds,  were  to  him  helps  rather  than  hindrances. 
He  rolled  his  ball  gently  and  lightly,  giving  it  a  ben- 
ediction, if  I  may  venture  to  say  so,  by  a  final  flutter 
of  his  fingers,  accompanying  and  protecting  it  with  a 
moist,  paternal  glance,  directing  it  by  his  wishes.  It 
really  seemed  as  if  the  fat  cure"  had  breathed  a  por- 
tion of  his  own  soul  into  the  ball,  to  see  it  rolling 
cautiously  on,  wheeling  around  an  obstacle,  avoiding 
a  stone,  pausing  as  if  to  reflect,  and  taking  advantage 
of  a  slight  declivity  that  nobody  had  noticed,  ap- 
proach nearer  and  nearer  the  goal,  and  finally  stop  in 
the  very  best  place.  During  this  time  the  most 
varying  emotions  were  depicted  upon  Abb6  Vilain's 
flushed  face,  with  all  the  more  clearness  because  his 
pure  soul  disdained  the  slightest  concealment :  hope, 
fear,  ambition,  tenderness,  anguish,  and  the  pride  of 
success.  He  advanced  and  stood  before  his  trium- 
phant ball,  with  his  cassock  raised  on  the  right  nearly 
to  his  waist,  his  hands  on  his  hips,  his  mouth  half 
open,  and  a  broad  sniile  beaming  for  an  instant  on  his 


234  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

flushed  face ;  an  instant  only,  for  all  eyes,  which  had 
at  first  been  fixed  upon  him,  turned  almost  immedi- 
ately towards  Abbe  Roche,  and  every  one  seemed  to 
say  :  "  That  is  very  well  done — but  we  shall  see  ! " 

And  in  fact,  the  cur6  of  Grand  Fort  drew  back 
two  or  three  paces,  tested  and  patted  his  ball,  meas- 
ured the  space  an  instant,  and  then,  with  a  gesture 
superb  in  ease  and  vigor,  hurled  it,  loaded  with  iron 
and  heavy  as  a  cannon  ball  though  it  was,  to  a  pro- 
digious height.  It  was  seen  to  mount  into  the  air, 
disappeared  amid  the  foliage  of  the  trees,  and  then 
fell  back  like  a  bombshell  upon  Abbe  Vilain's  ball, 
which  it  ignominiously  dislodged.  Now,  I  dare  ven- 
ture to  affirm,  that  when  a  player  who  is  in  earnest 
has  a  victorious  ball — a  ball  that  is  very  near,  and 
sees  it  driven  away  in  such  a  fashion,  brutally,  with- 
out any  respect  for  his  clever  play — and  when  the 
same  thing  is  repeated  for  ten  years  every  Sunday 
after  vespers,  publicly,  without  truce  or  mercy.  I  dare 
venture  to  affirm,  I  say,  that  the  player  feels  a  dull 
indignation  spring  up  within  him  that  might  readily 
be  transformed  into  an  outburst  of  rage.  He  incor- 
porates himself,  so  to  speak,  with  his  own  ball,  and 
therefore  cruelly  feels  the  violent  collision  to  which 
it  is  forced  to  yield. 

Abb6  Vilain,  consequently,  could  not  forget  the 
frightful  descent  of  the  iron-shod  ball,  and  the  excru- 
ciating sound  of  the  heavy  mass  falling  from  the 
skies.  Paff,  boumm  !  the  sounds  had  remained  fixed 
in  his  ears  and  heart,  and  when  he  heard  the  rumor 
of  the  apparition,  the  miracle,  and  the  spring ;  when 
he  was  told  that  Abb6  Roche  indignantly  drove  the 
worshippers  from  the  church,  and  refused  all  expla- 
nation, he  murmured  between  his  fat  lips  :  "  Paff, 
boumm  !  such  things  only  happen  in  certain  parishes." 

By  these  simple  words  the  worthy  man  regained 
many  lost  partisans.  As  may  be  supposed,  the  words, 
remembered  by  the  notary's  wife,  who  thought  it  her 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  23.5 

duty  to  confide  them  to  the  schoolmaster's  spouse, 
spread  rapidly  through  the  town,  where  they  were 
diligently  analyzed  and  commented  upon.  There  was 
something  decidedly  ambiguous  about  this  miracle. 
It  was  remembered  that  on  the  evening  of  the  event, 
the  doctor  had  met  Abbe  Roche  in  pere  Loursiere's 
hut.  The  cur6  of  Grand  Fort  must  have  passed  the 
White  Cross  at  the  very  hour  of  the  apparition. 
Why  should  he  have  burst  into  such  fits  of  anger,  fo1 
lowed  by  the  most  obstinate  silence  ? 

The  mayor  of  Virez  had  vainly  sought  to  eluci- 
date the  affair.  M.  Larreau  was  impenetrable  :  Abbe 
Roche  shut  his  door  in  people's  faces ;  pere  Baravoux 
was  in  a  perpetual  state  of  wild  excitement.  As  to 
the  sous-preTet,  he  had  not  even  answered  the  lette? 
that  had  been  sent  to  him.  Was  there  not  some  po 
litical  question,  some  electioneering  manoeuvre  con 
cealed  under  this  miracle  ?  It  was  remembered  that 
the  stone  cross  that  serves  as  an  object  for  the  pil- 
grimage of  the  Seven  Sorrows,  and  the  twenty-four 
little  bronze  crosses  that  adorn  the  highway,  had  been 
presented  to  the  public  at  the  time  of  the  last  elec- 
tions. It  was  evident,  therefore,  that  the  apparition 
of  the  White  Cross  had  some  political  signification, 
but  what  ?  What  did  it  mean  ?  Did  the  government 
desire  the  ruin  of  Virez  ?  The  population  was  greatly 
excited ;  it  was  impossible  to  employ,  or  obtain  any- 
thing whatever  from  the  workmen.  The  women  left 
their  children  shut  up  at  home  while  they  went  to 
visit  the  spring,  around  which  shops  of  every  descrip- 
tion had  been  erected.  Peddlers  sold  caps,  stockings, 
chaplets,  and  little  books ;  people  shot  at  a  mark 
with  the  cross-bow  to  win  macaroons;  it  was  a  per- 
fect fair-ground.  On  pretext  of  being  present  at  a 
second  apparition,  bands  of  pilgrims  journeyed  to- 
wards Grand  Fort,  and  stopped  at  the  inn  of  the  Sa- 
pin  Vert,  which  had  become  the  official  rendezvous 
of  all  the  drunkards  in  the  country,  so  that  even  at 


236  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

midnight  th&  town  was  disturbed  by  songs  and  shouts, 
and  twice  in  succession  Raimbeau  the  baker  had 
burned  his  oven-full  of  bread  from  returning  home  at 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning  in  a  state  of  beastly  in- 
toxication. Was  such  a  condition  of  things  to  be  en- 
dured? Was  it  not  to  be  desired  that  ecclesiastical 
authority  should  take  the  matter  in  hand  and  unravel 
the  mystery  ? 


XXIX. 

"While  Grand  Fort  and  Virez  were  almost  exclusive- 
ly occupied  with  thoughts  of  the  miracle  and  its  con- 
sequences, the  clever  Claudius  had  broached  the  affair 
in  Paris  with  marvellous  skill.  One  evening,  directly 
after  the  Gymnase,  he  came  to  Vernon's  studio,  sure 
of  finding  all  the  journalists  of  the  capital  assembled 
there,  and  suddenly,  without  the  slightest  preparation, 
as  if  still  excited  by  a  letter  which  he  said  he  had  just 
received,  related  the  story  with  inimitable  vivacity 
and  animation,  describing  the  scenes,  drawing  por- 
traits of  the  personages,  depicting,  with  a  warmth 
bordering  upon  eloquence,  the  great  excitement  rife 
hi  this  beautiful  country.  The  truth  is,  that  he  had 
studied  this  impromptu  outburst  nearly  half  the  day, 
and  just  as  he  entered  the  carriage,  took  several 
glasses  of  champagne  to  rise  to  the  height  demanded 
by  the  circumstances. 

It  is  no  easy  thing  to  relate  amid  certain  surround- 
ings a  totally  new  miracle,  Avhich  has  not  yet  receiv- 
ed the  stamp  of  public  approval :  Claudius,  therefore, 
was  extremely  careful  to  advance  no  personal  opinion. 
In  his  mouth  it  was  merely  a  dazzling  fairy  tale,  full 
of  strangely  vivid  descriptions  and  piquant  details 
that  each  could  interpret  to  please  himself.  The 
miracle  itself  he  treated  with  the  utmost  reverence, 
for  people  affected  great  respect  for  certain  subjects 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  237 

in  Vernon's  studio.  When  he  had  finished  his  story, 
he  added  amidst  a  general  silence  :  "  Well !  I'll  wager 
a  hundred  to  one  that  you  can't  guess  the  name  of 
the  owner  of  the  estates  on  which  the  very  veracious 
facts  I  have  just  related  occurred.  You  .can't  ?  Gen- 
tlemen, the  scene  of  this  wonderful  story  is  the  domain 
of  Manteigney." 

"  Oh  !  come,  you  are  joking,  Claudius.  Is  it  a 
bet  ?  AVhat  does  all  this  mean  V  " 

"  I  know  nothing  at  all  about  it,  and  M.  Larreau, 
who  wrote  me  this  morning,  knows  no  more  than 
you  do.  The  only  thing  certain  is,  that  there  is  a 
mineral  spring  which  no  one  knew  anything  about, 
whose  water  has  been  analyzed  and  found  to  be  ex- 
tremely healthful.  Another  fact  is,  that  the  whole 
country  is  excited  about  the  matter,  and  Larreau 
loudly  demands  an  investigation  into  the  subject  of 
this  miracle,  as  he  is  not  willing  to  assume  the  respon- 
sibility. In  short,  there  it  is — it  is  unheard-of,  impossi- 
ble, but  there  it  is.  I  have  the  letter  in  my  pocket." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  that  would  make  a  charming 
article." 

"  Do  whatever  you  please,  I  was  not  requested  to 
keep  it  a  secret." 

The  following  morning  the  apparition  of  the  White 
Cross  and  the  Manteigney  spring  were  presented  to 
the  curiosity  of  the  public  under  the  thousand  forms 
that  events  of  this  kind  always  assume.  Articles, 
conversations,  Parisian  gossip,  every-day  chat,  and 
daily  papers,  everywhere  one  met  with  the  strange 
occurrence,  related  and  commented  upon  according  to 
the  opinion  or  fancy  of  the  narrator.  Claudius,  al- 
though he  pretended  to  have  a  horror  of  writing,  took 
a  sheet  of  paper  and  in  a  delicate  hand  very  unlike  his 
usual  chirography,  traced  the  following  lines : 

"  MR.  EDITOR, 

"  Have  we  not  reason  to  be  surprised  at  the  almost 


238  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

malicious  facility  with  which  the  irreligious  press — it 
will  doubtless  take  the  qualification  as  a  compliment — 
welcomes  and  reproduces  tales  of  supernatural 
events  ?  The  account  of  an  apparition,  as  yet  un- 
sanctioned  by  ecclesiastical  authority,  seems  to  be  a 
piece  of  rare  good  fortune  to  these  gentlemen.  It  is 
one  stone  the  more  hurled  into  the  gardens  of  faith, 
and  these  men,  blinded  by  their  hatred,  cast  their 
little  pebbles  with  a  unanimity  and  ardor  that  is  be- 
wildering and  painful.  In  presence  of  unaccounta- 
ble facts  which  only  the  clergy  can  and  ought  to  ap- 
preciate, is  not  the  first  duty  a  respectful  silence  ? 
How  is  it  possible  not  to  perceive  that  the  premature 
publicity  given  to  such  occurrences  disturbs  the  con- 
science and  diminishes  the  two  divine  fires,  without 
which  modern  society  would  find  itself  enveloped  in 
the  most  impenetrable  obscurity,  I  mean,  reverence 
and  faith !  " 

Claudius  read  what  he  had  just  written.  "  That 
has  not  much  meaning,"  said  he,  "  but  it  will  elicit  a 
reply.  I  will  add  a  few  personalities."  And  he  again 
began  to  write: 

"  From  their  careless  and  wittily  irreverential 
mode  of  relating  these  facts,  would  not  one  suppose 
this  apparition  to  be  the  clever  clap-trap  of  some  an- 
onymous speculation,  the  shameless  advertisement  of 
some  mineral  spring  ?  It  is  given  to  our  times,  exci- 
ted by  mad  speculations  and  intoxicated  with  fumes 
of  incredulity,  to  see  such  audacious  shamelessness 
welcomed  with  perfect  unanimity. 

"  And  what  are  the  papers  that  dare  to  give  pub- 
licity to  such  matters  ?  Is  it  the  journal  of  the  man 
of  three  moral  principles,  the  lamous  and  absurd 
automedon  of  the  democratic  stage-coach,  the  liberal 
cuckoo  whom  we  see  every  morning  dragged  along 
by  his  emaciated  Pegasus  ?  Is  it  the  paper  of  that 
other  conciliatory  and  meditative  harlequin,  the  high 
priest  of  halting  between  two  opinions,  the  Don  Juau 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  239 

of  the  pros  and  cons  who,  surpassing  Cadet-Roussel 
in  the  art  of  clothing  himself,  pulls  bits  of  lining  from 
every  passer-by  and  drapes  himself  in  the  grotesque 
tatters  like  a  new  Messiah  ?  " 

"  Deuce  take  it  !  "  cried  Claudius,  "  I  think  I  might 
have  made  as  good  a  journalist  as  the  next  man.  Let 
us  continue  :  " 

"  Pardon  the  sharpness  of  my  words,  Mr.  Editor, 
but  indeed,  if  we  have  any  respect  for  our  holy  religion 
in  our  hearts,  we  must  be  indignant  at  such  behavior. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  most  sacred  interests  we  ask 
for  light.  We  ask  the  approval  or  condemnation  of 
an  ecclesiastical  decision,  and  that  under  any  circum- 
stances a  private,  speculation  should  be  prevented 
from  seizing  upon  a  divine  fact  as  the  basis  of  its  opera- 
tions, or,  taking  advantage  of  public  credulity,  invest 
a  lie  and  trick  with  a  sacred  character. 
"  I  am,  Mr.  Editor, 

OF  YOUK  SUBSCKIBEKS." 


Claudius,  well  pleased  with  his  work,  made  a  pen 
from  a  goose  quill,  and  taking  advantage  of  his  inspira- 
tion, wrote  upon  another  sheet  of  paper  without  paus- 
ing: 

"  All  goes  well,  and  progress  is  rapidly  advancing. 
We  have  lately  seen  the  wonders  of  art  applied  to 
industry  ;  the  Venus  de  Milo  cast  in  bronze,  and  trans- 
formed into  a  hydrant  ;  the  Apollo  Belvedere  enter- 
ing into  the  bustle  of  active  life  and  crowning  the 
roofs  of  houses  in  the  guise  of  a  chimney  ;  the  antique 
Diana  becoming  a  door  latch  ;  the  frieze  of  the  Parthe- 
non surrounding  clyster  pumps;  the  Acropolis  utilized 
as  a  mustard  pot;  and  that  we  may  lose  nothing  of  the 
venerable  Past,  Olympus  is  dragged  upon  the  stage, 
and  the  gods  of  ancient  Greece  take  tickets,  and  amuse 
the  crowd  under  the  wig  of  Bobeche  and  the  mask  of 
Galimafre. 

"  Everything  has  progressed  very  favorably,  but 


240  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

one  noticeable  improvement  should  be  mentioned  : 
modern  Catholicism  i'eels  the  necessity  of  becoming 
practical.  St.  Joseph  takes  a  commission,  transforms 
himself  into  a  bath-keeper,  administers  shower-baths, 
and,  rivalling  Calchas,  finds  no  business  menial  of 
which  God  approves. 

"  The  thermal  establishment  which  cures  both  body 
and  mind  is  one  of  the  products  of  our  civilization. 
Is  one  to  hear  mass  in  the  bath  ?  will  there  be  a  chap- 
lain-chiropodist attached  to  the  institution  ?  All  this 
demands  elucidation,  and  we  are  impatiently  awaiting 
the  decision  of  some  competent  authority  in  regard  to 
miracles,  as  applied  to  industry,  in  order  to  reply  to 
the  questions  of  every  description  asked  by  our  sub- 
scribers. 

"  In  strict  justice,  let  us  be  permitted  to  applaud 
this  prodigious  expansion  of  human  activity. 

"  By  courageously  placing  itself  at  the  head  of 
the  industrial  movement,  striving  to  rejuvenate  these 
ancient  beliefs  and  extract  from  their  ruins  a  practical, 
utilitarian,  and  fruitful  side,  Catholicism  surely  de- 
serves the  gratitude  of  all  intelligent  people. 

"  Let  us  therefore  welcome  this  pious  enterprise 
of  Manteigney,  whose  success  is  no  doubtful  matter 
to  us. 

"  That  is  quick,  brilliant,  vivid,"  said  Claudius, 
rubbing  his  hands.  "  The  articles  are  totally  dissimi- 
lar ;  now  let  me  find  two  envelopes,  without  initials, 
arid  of  different  styles." 

After  obtaining  what  he  sought,  he  wrote  on  the 
first  envelope  the  name  of  a  democratic  journal. 

These  two  articles,  published  simultaneously  by 
papers  most  hostile  to  each  other,  were  the  signal  for 
the  incredible  uproar  which  is  still  remembered.  The 
situation  of  affairs  just  then  was  extremely  critical. 
The  portfolio  of  the  interior  had  just  been  given  to  a 
man  well  known  to  be  excessively  partial  to  the  cler- 
gy, which  had  occasioned  much  discontent,  and  at  the 


AROUND  A  SPEINO.  241 

same  time  aroused  eager  hopes.  There  were  vague 
rumors  of  a  change  in  the  faculty  of  the  university. 
It  was  said  to  be  certain  that  our  libraries  and  mu- 
seums would  be  re-organized  ;  absurd  reports,  which 
however  had  gained  a  certain  degree  of  credence  in 
narrow,  malicious  minds,  thanks  to  the  persistent  si- 
lence of  the  government.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the 
miracle  of  Manteigney  happened  at  just  the  time  to 
reanimate  the  discussion.  It  was  a  useful  weapon,  a 
very  natural  pretext  for  asserting  one's  opinions,  ha- 
treds, or  sympathies,  and  to  damage  certain  elections 
that  had  just  taken  place.  Claudius  had  reckoned 
upon  all  this,  and  it  was  by  no  means  at  random  that 
he  had  at  first  written  certain  political  personalities 
which  would  not  be  accepted  without  noisy  retorts  to 
his  ill-timed  jests.  The  uproar  even  surpassed  the 
hopes  of  the  clever  viscount.  The  man  of  three 
moral  principles,  the  famous  automedon  of  the  demo- 
cratic stage-coach,  as  Claudius  called  him,  replied 
with  unprecedented  violence.  Anxious  and  embit- 
tered by  a  recent  and  public  slight  inflicted  upon  him 
by  the  new  minister,  he  saw  in  this  bold  attack  an 
opportunity  of  reinstating  himself  in  the  good  graces 
of  the  government. 

The  man  of  three  moral  principles  therefore  spoke 
of  "  miserable  concessions "  made  to  a  dangerous 
and  retrograde  party.  Was  our  France  of  '89  to 
bow  her  head  beneath  the  holy-water  sprinkler  of 
government  ?  The  satirical  paper  burst  into  shouts 
of  laughter ;  the  religious  paper  quoted  the  Fathers 
of  the  Church.  A  duel  was  the  result,  and  the  up- 
roar increased  still  more.  The  official  papers  main- 
tained a  decorous,  formal  attitude  that  calmed  no  one. 

At  this  period,  a  letter  from  M.  Larreau,  dated  at 
Manteigney,  appeared  simultaneously  in  three  or  four 
papers.  It  was  short,  and  bore  that  impression  of 
frankness  and  good  faith  which  instantly  attracts  the 
approbation  of  all  worthy  people.  In  the  absence  of 
16 


242  AROUND  A  SriUNG. 

his  son-in-law,  the  count,  he  considered  it  to  be  his  duty 
to  answer  the  report  circulating  in  Paris  with  the  most 
perfect  candor.  Then  without  mentioning  his  per- 
sonal opinion,  he  related  (he  simple  facts,  confessed 
that  he  had  suspected  the  existence  of  mineral  springs 
in  the  valley  of  Manteigney  long  before,  and  claimed, 
with  all  the  energy  of  an  upright  man,  a  searching 
and  immediate  investigation  of  the  events  that  had 
occurred  at  the  White  Cross,  in  which  his  own  honor 
and  that  of  his  family  were  involved.  No  one  could 
have  used  more  dignified  or  resolute  language. 
While  awaiting  the  decision,  irrevocable  in  such  mat- 
ters, of  ecclesiastical  authority,  he  would  call  into 
the  courts  of  law  any  person  making  insinuations  to 
the  effect  that  either  he  or  his  son-in-laAvhad  had  any 
tiling  whatever  to  do  with  the  affair.  The  capitalist's 
conduct  was  unanimously  pronounced  to  be  eminent- 
ly proper. 

During  this  time  Claudius  had  not  been  inactive. 
A  constant  visitor  at  Vernon's  receptions,  he  lost  no 
opportunity  of  influencing  public  opinion;  and  when 
he  spoke  of  the  absurd  position  in  which  the  Count 
de  Manteigney  and  family  were  placed,  allowed  his 
indignation  to  burst  forth  unrestrainedly.  Thanks  to 
him,  the  analysis  of  the  new  mineral  spring  was  soon 
published  officially  in  several  papers,  and  one  of  them 
added  an  extremely  eulogistic  article. 

"  Science,"  it  remarked,  "  has  no  occasion  to  trou- 
ble herself  about  the  manner  in  which  this  spring  was 
discovered  !  her  mission  is  only  to  appreciate  its  val- 
ue, and  on  that  point  there  is  no  room  for  doubt.  It 
has  tonical  and  diuretic  properties,  and  an  alkaline, 
magnesian,  gaseous,  and  ferruginous  composition, 
which  gives  it  rare  medicinal  importance.  It 
strengthens  the  nervous  system  without  producing 
the  slightest  irritation.  Obese  persons,  or  those  threat- 
ened with  obesity,  obstruction,  congestion,  or  rush  of 
blood,  will  obtain  certain  relief." 


Aiiouyo  A  SPRING.  243 

Claudius  had  a  number  of  these  papers  printed 
and  freely  distributed,  while  Larreau  sent  a  letter  to 
Dr.  Ferrand,  author  of  the  article,  inviting  him  to 
come  to  Manteigney,  that  he  might  judge  of  the  size 
of  the  spring  for  himself,  and  give  him  the  benefit  of 
his  experience  in  regard  to  the  best  means  of  making 
it  useful.  Claudius  was  besieged  with  questions  and 
curious  inquirers,  and  obliged  to  give  every  particu- 
lar concerning  the  climate  of  the  country,  its  re- 
sources, the  way  of  going  there,  etc.  The  Baron  de 
Solernie  drew  him  aside  one  evening,  and  with  a 
most  charming  smile,  exclaimed :  "  Well,  my  dear 
Claudius,  the  Manteigney  business  is  taking  a  favora- 
ble turn ;  the  spring  is  very  medicinal,  it  appears. 
They  were  speaking  of  it  yesterday  at  the  ministry.'' 

"  The  business,  as  you  call  it,  will  not  really  take 
a  favorable  turn  until  the  count  and  his  father-in-law 
are  entirely  absolved  from  all  connection  with  this 
miracle,  whether  true  or  false.  Until  the  mystery 
is  unravelled  the  whole  affair  has  an  air  of  trickery 
which  is  extremely  injurious  to  my  friends.  Their 
situation  is  positively  unbearable." 

"  No  doubt !  but  these  rumors  will  die  away,  and 
the  result  will  be  a  most  lucrative  financial  operation." 

"  I  don't  deny  it ;  but  you  know  Larreau  is  ex- 
cessively sensitive." 

"  That  is  most  praiseworthy.  Such  noble  pride  is 
rarely  seen  in  business  matters." 

"  He  values  his  reputation  as  an  honest  man  above 
everything,  and  is  not  one  of  those  who —  Larreau 
is  a  perfect  bar  of  steel,  where  any  tampering  with 
his  conscience  is  concerned." 

"  And  who  dreams  of  accusing  him  ?  You  know 
perfectly  well  that  he  has  the  sympathy  of  all.  Be- 
tween ourselves,  I  am  convinced  that  he  is  the  victim  of 
some  audacious  trickster,  who  wished  to  grasp  a  share 
of  the  profits  of  the  spring.  The  people  there  are 
very  superstitious,  I  believe." 


244  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

"  More  so  than  you  could  imagine." 

"  And  the  priests  must  have  immense  influence ! 
This  is  a  very  delicate,  even  dangerous,  affair  to  elu- 
cidate. We  must  think  twice  before  depriving  the 
people  of  any  illusion  whatever.  As  the  writer  of 
that  famous  article  says,  all  reverence  is  linked  to- 
gether, all  authority  mutually  dependent ;  do  not 
hope  to  touch  one  without  injuring  all.  A  blow  from 
a  hammer,  dealt  on  the  ground  floor,  breaks  the  clocks 
on  the  first  story.  The  floors  are  thin,  and  the  parti- 
tions very  slight." 

"  That  is  a  very  striking  observation,  my  dear 
baron." 

"  It  is  only  common  sense.  Reverence  has  be- 
come a  hot-house  flower  among  the  masses.  Every 
time  that  we  permit  a  discussion,  we  break  a  pane  of 
glass  ;  draw  aside  a  straw  mat,  and  the  plant  becomes 
chilled.  This  is  what  leads  me  to  tell  you  that  the 
investigation  demanded  by  Larreau  is  a  thing  very 
delicate  to  exact,  and  dangerous  to  obtain.  In  these 
times,  a  pinch  of  doubt  thrown  on  the  ground 
produces  in  a  month  a  whole  harvest  of  skeptics. 
Discuss  Saint  Joseph  to-day,  and  to-morrow  people 
will  discuss  the  official  candidate  proposed  by  the 
prefect.  Discussion  is  a  terrible  weapon.  I  should 
rather  never  have  a  sharp  knife  in  my  house  than  to 
run  the  risk  of  losing  three  fingers  the  first  time  I 
used  it." 

"  And  do  you  believe  the  government  thinks — " 

"  As  I  do  ?  Yes ;  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  it 
held  the  same  opinions.  You  see,  my  good  friend,  the 
question,  until  now,  has  not  been  considered  in  its 
true  aspect.  It  is  possible,  quite  possible,  so  far  as  I 
know,  that  this  apparition  of  the  White  Cross  may 
really  have  a  supernatural,  divine  character — yes,  di- 
vine. I  even  believe  it  would  be  a  very  fortunate 
thing  if  this  divine  character  could  be  officially  rec- 
ognized and  established." 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  245 

The  two  speakers  exchanged  inquiring  glances. 
The  baron  coughed,  and  continued :  "  As  to  the  ma- 
terial, commercial  part  of  the  affair,  it  seems  to  me 
that  it  might  prove  a  matter  of  great  interest,  and  if 
Larreau  was  disposed  to  give  other  capitalists  a  share 
in  the  enterprise,  \vhich  may  assume  gigantic  propor- 
tions, he  might,  perhaps,  by  that  means,  obtain  valu- 
able aid,  whose  influence  would  greatly  simplify  the 
present  state  of  affairs.  This  is  a  purely  personal 
suggestion,  let  that  be  plainly  understood." 

"  We  had  thought  of  that,"  murmured  Claudius, 
with  a  very  confidential  expression  ;  "  we  had  thought 
of  it,  especially  as  the  improvement  of  the  spring,  the 
necessary  arrangements — " 

"  Which,  in  case  of  need,  the  proper  authority 
could  render  obligatory." 

"  Among  intelligent  people,  such  means  are  not 
employed.  We  shall  never  refuse  to  have  the  spring 
made  a  source  of  profit ;  although,  to  tell  the  truth, 
the  enterprise  would  be  only  a  pretext — an  excuse 
for  introducing  activity  and  life  into  a  new  region." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  expected  as  much  " 

"  We  ask  only  one  little  railway  line,  penetrating 
the  heart  of  these  mountains  through  the  valleys  of 
Lindousie  and  Manteigney,  to  enable  us  t6  put  incal- 
culable wealth  in  circulation.  Lend  us  the  key  to 
open  the  door  of  this  treasure  house,  my  dear  baron." 

"  Suppose  we  exchange  good  offices,  my  dear 
friend.  Speak  of  this  matter  to  M.  Larreau,  won't 
you  ?  For  a  thousand  reasons,  he  ought  to  form  po- 
litical friendships.  We  will  talk  about  this  affair 
again;  farewell,  my  dear  Claudius." 


XXX. 

In  spite  of  the  general  anxiety,  the  ecclesiastical 
authorities  could  not  resolve  to  interfere.     The  arch- 


246  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

bishop,  justly  alarmed  by  the  enormous  and  rapid  in- 
crease of  the  reports  concerning  this  affair,  was  in  a 
position  whose  embarrassment  can  readily  be  per- 
ceived. The  prefect  still  addressed  respectful  peti- 
tions ;  M.  Larreau  and  the  Count  de  Manteigney  had 
entreated  him,  in  most  urgent  terms,  to  order  an  in- 
vestigation. To  refuse  all  interference  was  to  despise 
aristocratic  and  powerful  influences.  On  the  other 
hand,  to  hastily  respond  to  the  general  curiosity 
would  be  compromising  ecclesiastical  dignity.  If  the 
question  had  been  purely  a  religious  one,  perhaps  the 
archbishop  would  have  more  readily  determined  to 
interpose,  although  such  precipitation  might  be  un- 
precedented ;  but  under  present  circumstances  the 
miracle  was  visibly  complicated  by  a  publicly  avowed 
commercial  enterprise.  '  Was  it  not  to  be  feared  that 
amid  the  rumors  the  investigation  of  the  facts  would 
prove  singularly  embarrassing  ?  Every  detail  of  the 
examination  would  be  discussed  and  commented 
upon  by  an  excited  press.  Was  it  really  known 
what  might  be  concealed  beneath  this  mysterious  af- 
fair ?  Several  miracles  had  already  been  performed 
in  the  south  of  France,  it  is  true ;  but  never  had  they 
been  so  impetuously  made  public  before  the  decision 
of  the  chief  of  the  diocese,  who  found  himself  in  this 
case  almost  driven  on  to  act — an  event  quite  inad- 
missible. 

Very  fortunately,  the  archbishop  was  intimately 
acquainted  with  one  of  the  most  attractive  and  intel- 
ligent members  of  the  priesthood.  Having  taken 
holy  orders  on  account  of  a  succession  of  heavy  mis- 
fortunes, which  were  formerly  widely  discussed  in 
certain  circles,  Abbe  Desvialle  still  retained  his  re- 
fined, elegant  tastes.  He  was  a  man  of  slender  figure, 
with  a  smiling  mouth,  affable,  though  searching 
glance,  and  a  most  delightful  blase  expression.  Al- 
though his  dress  was  perfectly  simple,  and  precisely 
like  that  of  the  other  priests,  one  could  instantly  de- 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  247 

tect  the  thousand  little  touches  of  a  man  Avho  is  care- 
ful of  his  personal  appearance,  and  desirous  to  please. 
In  the  days  when  sumptuary  laws  compelled  all  the 
gondolas  in  Venice  to  assume  a  uniform  appearance, 
every  one  was  black,  without  ornament  or  carving. 
The  cabins  were  invariably  draped  with  black  cloth, 
and  yet  the  patrician's  gondola  could  be  recognized  at 
the  distance  of  a  hundred  paces.  The  commands  were 
observed  to  the  letter,  but  the  cloth  was  fine,  the 
prow  glittered  like  the  blade  of  a  razor,  and  the  win- 
dows were  provided  with  panes  of  glass  as  thick  as 
the  finger  and  as  clear  as  spring  water.  The  gondola 
itself  was  black,  but  the  partitions  were  of  ebony ; 
there  were  no  projecting  carvings,  but  elegant  de- 
signs cut  into  the  wood,  were  traced  with  most  artis- 
tic skill.  This  explains  how  it  happened  that  on  see- 
ing Abb6  Desvialle  pass,  one  instantly  supposed  that 
he  had  a  valet,  and  did  not  confound  him  with  the 
common  herd. 

A  man  by  nature  indifferent  to  ordinary  tasks,  he 
had  devoted  himself  particularly  to  the  difficult  nice- 
ties of  his  profession.  He  liked  to  probe  anxious  and 
timid  consciences,  watch,  treat,  and  cure  the  ever- 
grieving  and  panting  feminine  souls ;  he  excelled  in 
gently  searching  the  inmost  recesses  of  the  heart,  and 
weighing  the  most  intangible  sensations  with  perfect 
exactitude.  He  would  have  found  means  to  apply  a 
dressing  to  the  tiniest  prick  of  a  needle;  and  his  scal- 
pels were  so  minute,  his  magnifying  glasses  so  pow- 
erful, that  on  the  slightest  trace  of  a  trifling,  venial 
sin,  he  would  speak  for  a  whole  hour,  without  effort 
or  fatigue,  with  grace,  tact,  freshness,  vigor,  and  in- 
comparable intelligence. 

Although  one  of  the  most  prominent  men  in  Paris, 
I  must  mention  that  Abbe  Desvialle  had  never  at- 
tended any  of  Vernon's  receptions,  although  a  fre- 
quent visitor  at  the  painter's  studio  by  day,  as  he 
greatly  admired  the  ease  and  grace  of  his  works,  and 


248  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

thus  very  naturally  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
principal  guests  of  this  famous  house.  He  had  been 
particularly  intimate  with  M.  Larreau,  even  dined 
several  times  at  his  table,  and  on  the  marriage  of 
Count  de  Manteigney  with  the  capitalist's  daughter, 
Abb6  Desvialle  had  consented  to  perform  the  cere- 
mony for  the  young  couple.  He  made  a  charming 
little  address  on  the  occasion,  about  as  long  as  one's 
finger,  but  most  appropriate,  a  perfect  gem.  The 
count  and  countess  had  always  been  on  the  best  of 
terms  Avith  the  good  abbe,  and  had  made  him  solemn- 
ly promise  to  come  and  visit  them  at  Manteiguey. 

When  the  archbishop  found  himself  in  the  embar- 
rassing situation  previously  mentioned,  the  priest  in- 
stantly proposed  that  he  should  fulfil  the  promise 
made  to  the  count,  and  after  a  long  conversation, 
hastily  set  out  for  the  old  chateau.  His  mission,  it 
was  plainly  understood,  had  no  official  character ;  he 
came  as  a  friend  and  visitor,  and  entered  with  a  smile 
upon  his  lips.  On  perceiving  M.  Larreau,  who,  cross- 
ing the  court-yard-,  received  him  and  helped  him  out 
of  the  carriage',  he  extended  both  hands  with  a  friend- 
ly gesture,  and  burst  into  a  little  ringing  laugh  of 
most  cheering  augury. 

The  capitalist  felt  as  if  relieved  of  a  two  hundred 
pound  weight. 

"  Oh !  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you,  my  dear  abbe 
I  only  received  your  little  note  yesterday." 

"  I  keep  my  promise,  as  you  see,  I  am  a  man  of 
my  word.  The  countess — " 

"  Is  perfectly  well,  thank  you ;  we  shall  see  her 
directly.  But  you  must  be  wearied  by  the  heat  and 
dust.  Permit  me  to  show  you  to  your  room.  My 
son-in-law  has  not  returned,  he  will  be  very  sorry." 

"  So  am  I,  I  assure  you.  Is  he  not  near  Bor- 
deaux?" 

"  A  little  farther  south,  at  the  Duke  d'Armine's, 
where  he  has  been  detained,  much  to  my  annoyance, 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  249 

for  you  must  perceive  that  under  these  circumstances 
the  count's  presence—  I  Avill  leave  yon.  This  is  your 
room :  its  windows  afford  a  view  of  the  valley  and 
the  famous  spring." 

"  The  famous  spring,"  repeated  the  abbe  with  a 
very  meaning  smile.  "  I  will  join  you  in  ten  min- 
utes." 

"  He  has  been  sent  down  by  the  archbishop,  that 
is  plain  as  day,"  thought  M.  Larreau,  pacing  to  and 
fro ;  "  after  all,  I  would  rather  have  this  worthy  Abbe 
DesA'ialle  than  any  one  else.  I  have  nothing  to  con- 
ceal, I  wish  to  have  an  investigation.  He  is  very  in- 
telligent ;  we  shall  understand  each  other.  This  ab- 
surd story  must  be  put  out  of  sight,  there  must  be 
no  farther  discussion." 

The  capitalist  was  really  disgusted  with  the  su- 
pernatural for  the  time  being.  His  affairs  were  pro- 
gressing admirably,  the  effect  he  desired  had  been 
produced  by  the  Parisian  press,  the  spring  at  3Ian- 
teigney  was  well  known,  the  chemical  analysis  had 
been  published — appreciated.  What  necessity  was 
there  now  for  any  pretended  divine  interposition  ? 
Besides,  he  really  desired  the  investigation  on  account 
of  Abbe  Roche,  who  had  thought  himself  strong 
enough  to  act  alone — had  evidently  intended  to  make 
nse  of  the  spring  for  his  own  advantage,  slyly,  brutal- 
ly, foolishly,  and  who,  after  the  excitement  caused 
by  his  first  effort,  had  neither  the  skill  and  courage 
to  pursue  his  plan,  nor  the  frankness  to  confess  his 
incapacity.  Oh!  he  desired  it  most  earnestly  on  ac- 
count of  the  cur6  of  Grand  Fort;  and  the  longing 
to  revenge  himself  upon  him  for  his  insolence,  to 
place  him  in  an  annoying  situation,  had  a  large 
share  in  causing  his  sudden  dislike  of  the  supernat- 
ural. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  the  countess  had  a  pow- 
erful influence  over  her  father's  mind,  and  wholly 
dissuaded  him  from  favoring  the  miracle,  by  the  ever 


250  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

increasing  dislike  she  had  manifested  towards  the 
subject.  "  But,  my  darling,  I  cannot  understand  your 
horror  of  this  apparition,  which  could  have  been  seen 
only  by  the  will  of  God.  I  have  certainly  neglected 
nothing  in  your  education  ;  I  gave  you  as  much  relig- 
ion as  any  one  else  has ;  how  does  it  happen  ?  " 

"  It  is  instinctive,  dear  papa — it  is  nervous,  I  know. 
I  cannot  account  for  it,  but  so  it  is." 


XXXI. 

However  clear  M.  Larreau's  ideas  might  be,  lie 
was  not  the  man  to  open  his  heart  without  suitable 
precautions,  or  to  take  the  initiative  in  giving  his 
confidence  to  the  archbishop's  envoy ;  so  the  begin- 
ning of  the  conversation  was  somewhat  constrained, 
and  it  was  only  after  exchanging  several  pinches  of 
snuff,  inquiring  about  each  other's  health  in  every  vari- 
ety of  phrase,  admiring  the  view,  and  gazing  at  the 
facade  of  the  chateau,  that  the  two  speakers  began 
to  talk  freely.  The  capitalist,  suddenly  assuming 
the  expression  of  cheerful  good-nature  which  so  well 
suited  him,  exclaimed: 

"  Pardon  an  excess  of  sincerity,  my  dear  Mon- 
sieur Desvialle,  but  it  is  one  of  my  faults  to  be  ex- 
ceedingly frank.  May  I  hope  that  you  come  here 
in  the  bishop's  name  ?  My  question  is  doubtless  in- 
discreet ;  but  that  can't  he  helped — it  is  my  nature, 
and— 

"  Your  question  is  not  indiscreet,  my  dear  Mon- 
sieur Larreau ;  it  is  the  natural  consequence  of  your 
good  faith,  and  I  will  reply  without  evasion.  I  have 
come  here  in  response  to  the  invitation  given  me 
last  winter  by  the  countess  and  yourself." 

"  So  much  the  better,  that  is  perfectly  plain." 

"  To  tell  you,"  continued  the  priest,  laying  his 
hand  on  Larreau's  arm, "  to  tell  you  that  I  feel  no  cu- 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  251 

riosity  about  the  event  to  which  you  allude,  would 
be—" 

"  This  is  perfectly  natural,  you  have  no  occasion 
to  tell  me  of  it,  ray  dear  abbe." 

"  One  cannot  conceal  anything  from  you  !  Curi- 
osity all  the  more  keen,  because  by  satisfying  it,  I 
shall  perhaps  be  able  to  relieve  that  of  another,  who 
cannot  and  will  not  manifest  it  in  an  official  and  pub- 
lic manner  at  present.  You  see,  my  dear  Monsieur 
Larreau,  that  my  frankness  is  at  least  equal  to  yours." 

The  capitalist  warily  half  opened  his  left  eye, 
and  instantly  closing  it,  replied :  "  Your  sincerity 
makes  it  a  duty  for  me  to  conceal  nothing  from  you. 
In  two  words,  as  a  Catholic,  I  am  wounded,  I  can 
use  no  other  expression,  deeply  wounded  by  all  that 
has  transpired  here.  Good  heavens  !  I  have  reached 
a  time  of  life  when  the  bustle  of  business  is  no  longer 
sufficient,  when  the  ideas  and  convictions  of  former 
days,  deadened  for  years,  suddenly  awake.  Ah  !  my 
dear  abb6,  we  must  not  play  with  religion  !  No,  no, 
we  must  not  play  with  religion !  " 

He  prolonged  his  sentence  by  a  succession  of  lit- 
tle nods,  impatiently  waiting  for  the  abb6,  by  some 
word  or  gesture,  to  permit  him  to  obtain  even  the 
slightest  idea  of  the  archbishop's  opinion  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  miracle ;  but  M.  Desvialle,  who  on  his 
part  was  waiting  for  the  rich  man  to  explain  himself 
more  fully,  replied :  "  You  are  perfectly  right. 
From  whatever  point  of  view  we  look  at  this  matter, 
you  are  perfectly  right.  We  must  not  play  with  re- 
ligion. The  present  and  future  welfare  of  France 
demand  it  —  imperiously ;  but  you  suppose,  then, 
that  some  one  has  been  making  game — " 

"  I  suppose  nothing,  oh !  good  heavens,  don't  fancy 
that  I  suppose  anything  about  the  affair.  I  am 
wounded,  as  you  yourself  must  be,  by  the  discussions, 
the  clamor  which  greets  a  fact,  incomprehensible,  it 
is  true,  but  whose  mystery  should  be  respected  until 


252  AROUND  A  SPRISG. 

the  proper  authority  has  pronounced  its  decree.  Un- 
til the  Episcopal  torch — I  think  the  expression  a  cor- 
rect one — casts  its  light  upon  this  adven — hem  !  hem  ! 
this  supernatural  event,  I  shall  be  wounded,  M.  Fabbe, 
woundei  as  a  Christian,  as  the  head  of  a  family,  as 
the  owner  of  estates,  by  hearing  some  people  affirm, 
with  most  inexcusable  violence,  that  the  miracle  is 
false." 

"  Do  you  believe  it  true  ?  " 

"  Equally  wounded  when  I  hear  it  proclaimed 
without  the  archbishop's  sanction  that  the  apparition 
has  a  divine  character." 

"  Dear  me,  your  grief  is  without  bounds  ! "  ob- 
served the  priest  with  a  pleasant  little  smile  that 
softened  the  sarcasm  of  his  words. 

"  I  ask  for  information — I  demand  a  searching, 
thorough  investigation,"  replied  Larreau,  somewhat 
piqued.  "  I  have  demanded  it  orally,  in  writing, 
everywhere,  and  at  all —  Truth  is  an  admirable 
thing ! " 

"  Yes,  I  have  read  your  letter  in  the  papers,  my 
dear  Monsieur  Larreau,  and"  I  think  it  very  clever 
from  a  certain  point  of  view ;  but  pray  listen  to  me, 
I  am  speaking  in  all  sincerity." 

"  And  I,  too,"  thought  the  capitalist. 

"  You  must  perceive  that  Episcopal  authority  can- 
not compromise  its  character  by  studying  mere  ru- 
mors; that  it  cannot  act  on  account  of  a  vague  report 
that  passes  on  and  is  borne  away  by  the  wind;  it 
must  remain  cold  and  deaf  to  all  the  tales — pardon 
the  word — that  are  circulating  around  it." 

"  Permit  me — " 

"  Allow  me  to  continue, — and  even  before  decid- 
ing upon  an  investigation,  it  should  wait  until  public 
opinion  has  given  more  stability  to  the  rumors,  more 
reality  to  the  facts." 

"  But  the  deuce  !  my  dear  abb6,"  rejoined  Larreau, 
who  was  becoming  excited  in  spite  of  himself,  "  this 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  253 

rumor  has  caused  a  frightful  tumult,  a  universal  tern 
pest;  all  the  papers  in  Paris  have  discussed — " 

"  So  much  the  more  reason  for  ecclesiastical  au- 
thority to  wait  until  calmness  is  restored.  It  would 
be  impossible  to  conduct  a  trial  Avith  sufficient  solem- 
nity amid  the  uproar  of  eager  discussions ;  and  you 
ought  to  be  the  first  to  wish,  as  a  Catholic,  as  head 
of  a  family,  as  owner  of  estates,  that  the  decree 
should  be  given  with  the  dignity  and  prudence  befit- 
ting so  grave  a  subject.  Why,  you  will  admit  that 
the  wonderfully  rapid  spread  of  this  report  is  well 
calculated  in  itself  to  put  the  archbishop  on  his 
guard.  How  do  you  explain  this  unheard-of,  unpre 
cedented  speed  ?  " 

"The  explanation  does  not  appear  to  me  a  very  dif- 
ficult one  to  give,  M.  1'abbe.  The  name  of  Manteig- 
ney  is  well  known  in  Paris,  and  mine  is  by  no  means 
an  insignificant  one.  As  soon  as  they  were  known  to 
have  some  connection  with  this  affair,  public  attention 
was  excited.  That  is  easily  understood.  As  for  the 
inhabitants  of  this  region,  their  ardor,  enthusiasm, 
and  thirst  for  the  marvellous  resemble  insanity." 

"  Indeed  ?  That  is  very  singular.  How  does  it 
happen,  my  dear  M.  Larreau '? "  And  the  priest 
leaned  familiarly  on  the  capitalist's  arm. 

"This  is  the  explanation,"  replied  the  latter.  "In 
this  mountainous  portion  of  our  beautiful  France, 
people,  I  do  not  know  why,  are  habituated  to  the  idea 
of  the  supernatural.  One  might  say  that  the  miracle 
has  pervaded  the  whole  province,  and  the  mountain- 
eers think  of  nothing  else.  It  is  to  them  an  inex- 
haustible treasure,  ready  to  open  beneath  their  feet. 
Thousands  of  the  little  books  carried  about  every- 
where in  the  packs  of  peddlers  have  taught  them  the 
lucrative  side  of  celestial  interpositions,  and  they  wish 
for  them  just  as  in  Paris  you  desire  to  see  one  of  the 
boulevards  laid  out  which  necessitates  the  removal 
of  a  number  of  miserable  buildings.  It  is  the  ex- 


254  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

pression  of  the  same  feeling  in  a  simpler  form :  profit 
without  labor,  a  rapid  fortune,  a  blessing  from  Heav- 
en in  the  guise  of  a  shower  of  gold.  The  wide- 
spread circulation  that  any  fact  bordering  on  the 
marvellous  now  has,  is  the  result  of  former  success. 
The  greater  the  number  of  these  pieces  of  good  for- 
tune, the  more  the  enthusiasm  will  continue  to  in- 
crease ;  and  at  last  petitions  will  be  made  in  the 
poorer  •  parishes  for  any  miracle  whatever — whether 
true  or  false  matters  little — a  partial  apparition  for 
want  of  an  entire  one ;  and  just  as  in  the  cities  we 
are  obliged  to  incessantly  demolish  and  rebuild,  in 
order  to  preserve  public  tranquillity,  so  in  the  moun- 
tains it  will  be  necessary  to  continually  perform  fresh 
miracles  to  satisfy  more  and  more  pressing  needs. 
You  will  tell  me  that  I  am  permitting  myself  to  be 
carried  away  by  my  feelings." 

"  I  shall  say  nothing  at  all,"  interrupted  Abbe 
Desvialle,  laughing  heartily,  "  except  that  your  jests 
are  unseemly.  You  know  very  well,  my  dear  M. 
Larreau,  that  men  do  not  perform  miracles." 

"  I  am  aware  of  that." 

"  They  accept  them,  that  is  all." 

"  With  a  readiness  that  is  oftentimes  very  damag- 
ing to  religion." 

"  Then  you  do  not  believe  in  miracles,  perhaps, 
Monsieur  Larreau." 

"  Excuse  me,  I  do  believe  in  them,  my  situation 
imposes  it  upon  me  as  a  duty — I  believe  in  them  as  a 
principle,  in  general." 

"  But  in  particular,  you — " 

"Oh!  bless  me!  in  particular — ha!  ha!  in  par- 
ticular, I  have  my  doubts." 

"  So  that  in  the  present  case,  this  apparition  of 
the  White  Cross—" 

"  In  all  sincerity,  what  do  you  think  of  it,  M. 
I'abbe?" 

"  A  beautiful  view  !  "  observed  the  priest,  leaning 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  255 

his  elbow  upon  the  balustrade  of  the  terrace;  un- 
doubtedly he  had  not  heard  the  capitalist's  question. 
"  A  beautiful  view,  a  flourishing  valley  !  The  labor- 
ers that  I  see  down  below — " 

"  They  are  engaged  in  works  which  will  greatly 
increase  the  value  of  our  spring.  We  intend  to  ex- 
cavate under  the  mountain,  and  the  black  hole  you 
see  yonder  is  the  entrance  of  the  passage.  It  is  a 
great  undertaking." 

"  And  the  building  that  is  being  erected  close 
by?" 

"  That  is  a  hospital  I  intend  to  bestow  upon  the 
poor  of  the  country;  it  is  arranged  after  my  own 
ideas,  and  designed  entirely  by  myself." 

"  The  thought  does  you  honor.  And  these  new 
roads  that  I  see  laid  out  in  different  directions  ? " 

"  I  planned  them  myself,  and  am  building  them  at 
my  own  expense — but  this  is  only  the  beginning." 

"  You  are  employing  your  wealth  nobly,  and  de- 
sen^e  the  sympathy  of  all  philanthropists." 

"  I  do  as  much  good  as  I  can.  Roads,  Monsieur 
Desvialle,  roads  are  the  first  necessity.  My  object  is 
to  unite  this  out-of-the  way  region  with  the  rest  of 
France ;  and  by  and  bye,  if  I  have  done  a  useful  work 
by  arousing  these  people  to  active  life,  the  only  re- 
ward I  shall  ask  will  be  the  approbation  of  intelli- 
gent, worthy  men."  He  made  an.  almost  impercepti- 
ble bow  to  the  priest,  who  just  at  that  moment  was 
looking  for  his  snuff-box. 

"  And  if  these  intelligent,  worthy  people  should 
testify  their  admiration  by  confiding  to  you  the  hon- 
orable trust  of  defending  their  interests,  of  being 
their  representative,  you  would  not  refuse  the  recom- 
pense— you  would  have  no  right  to  refuse." 

The  rich  man  suddenly  felt  the  pleasant  thrill  that 
we  experience  on  sitting  down  to  a  glittering,  well- 
served  table  in  a  warm  room.  He  closed  both  eyes, 
and  gravely  answered :  "  I  have  never  had  anything 


256  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

to  do  with  politics,  my  dear  abb6 ;  I  had  dreamed  of 
spending  the  remainder  of  my  days  in  some  quiet, 
calm  retreat,  far  removed  from  the  pressing  anxieties 
which  a  trust  like  the  one  you  mention — " 

"  Very  frequently  causes." 

"  You  understand  men,  my  dear  Abbe  Desvi- 
alle ! " 

" I  have  seen  so  many — so  many  women  !  "he  ad- 
ded in  an  undertone.  "  It  is  on  account  of  these  very 
difficulties  that  it  is  honorable,  glorious  to  accept 
such  a  mission.  You  are  of  the  right  stun0  to  make  a 
politician,  my  dear  M.  Larreau." 

"  Eh !  well,  perhaps  I  might  accept ;  but  it  would 
be  after  a  struggle  against  my  inclinations.  And  I — 
why  should  I — tor  what  reason  do  I — " 

"  Those —  those  are  great  works —  magnificent 
works ! " 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  down  to  the  valley  ?  " 

''  Oh !  it  is  not  necessary,  I  can  judge  of  them 
very  well  from  here." 

"  There  is  plenty  of  room,  as  you  see,  to  build  as 
occasion  requires."  And  the  capitalist  explained  his 
plans  in  detail.  He  became  animated  as  he  spoke, 
his  gestures  grew  more  expressive,  and  his  face  be- 
came gradually  flushed. 

"  The  hospital,  for  the  time  being,  will  become  the 
bath-house.  It  is  built  in  such  a  manner  that  it  can 
be  indefinitely  enlarged,  and  answer  all  requirements. 
I  will  say  nothing  at  present  of  the  house  for  conva- 
lescent patients,  the  cottages  reserved  for  the  clergy, 
or  the—" 

"  Everything  has  been  foreseen  and  carefully  pro- 
vided for." 

"  I  have  looked  into  the  matter,  as  you  perceive." 

"  Of  course  these  things  do  not  happen  unexpect- 
edly; but  in  that  case,"  said  the  abbe,  with  a  most 
courteous  smile,  "  the  famous  miracle  would  not  be 
really—" 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  257 

"  It  was  accidental,  purely  accidental.  As  I  have 
had  the  honor  of  telling  whoever  would  listen  to  me, 
I  suspected  the  existence  of  a  mineral  spring  long 
ago,  some  time  before  this  annoying  occurrence.  I 
had  even  considered  the  means  of  enlarging  it,  and 
visited  Bareges,  Luchon,  Uriage,  and  Saint  Sauveur 
for  that  purpose.  My  library  is  full  of  books  on  the 
subject,  for  I  never  do  things  by  halves — I  like  to  in- 
vestigate matters  thoroughly.  I  was  sitting  there, 
studying,  and  arranging  the  matter,  when  this  mir- 
acle—" 

"  Fell  from  the  skies." 

"  Exactly — from  the  skies,  ha !  ha  !  ha  !  that  is  just 
the  word,  and  you  must  perceive  that  it  was  no  easy 
task  to  make  it  re-ascend." 

"Admitting  that  it  came  from  thence  !  " 

"  Ha  !  ha !  ha !  I  make  no  assertions  about  that." 
The  ice  was  broken.  "  You  cannot  imagine,  my  dear 
abb6,  how  much  your  frankness  and  affability  cheers 
me,  and  what  pleasure  it  gives  me  to  be  able  to  speak 
to  you  without  evasion.  How  delightful  it  would  be 
if  all  the  ministers  of  our  religion  had  the  charming 
simplicity  which  you  possess  in  so  high  a  degree  !  I 
understand  and  love  devotion,  when  it  presents  itself 
in  a  cheerful,  mild,  tolerant  form.  That  is  the  true 
aspect  of  religion,  M.  1'abbe.  People  who  are  unfor- 
tunate, who  obtain  nothing  they  desire,  like  to  lament ; 
it  is  very  natural,  I  admit,  and  I  ex'cuse  it ;  but  those 
who,  on  the  contrary,  are  extremely  prosperous,  whose 
efforts  have  been  crowned  with  success,  shotild  not 
be  expected  to  mourn.  Well !  I  find  that  people  do 
not  think  enough  of  thosQ  who  have  succeeded,  and 
it  is  a  great  wrong,  for  from  every  point  of  view,  they 
deserve  great  consideration.  What  is  admirable  un- 
der some  circumstances  becomes  pitiful  on  another 
occasion.  When  a  miracle  attracts  attention  to  some 
humble  spring  of  fresh  water,  I  understand  and  ap- 
plaud it ;  but  in  the  present  case  what  do  we  want 
17 


258  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

of  one?  My  spring  is  among  the  richest  in  France; 
it  will  cure  by  the  mere  power  of  its  chemical  vir- 
tues. The  miracle  here  is  like  hairs  in  one's  soup,  M. 
Fabbe,  and  this  scamp,  who  rushes  into  my  business 
like  a  poodle  into  a  game  of  skittles,  ought  to  be  sent 
to  the  House  of  Correction.  That  is  my  opinion." 

Abb6  Desvialle,  whose  smiling,  affable  expression 
had  remained  unchanged,  replied  in  a  confidential 
tone :  "  And  what  is  the  opinion  of  your  worthy 
cure,Abb6  Roche,  if  I  am  not  mistaken  in  regard  to 
all  this  ?  He  ought  to  know  the  country  perfectly. 
He  is  said  to  be  very  energetic  and  intelligent." 

•  "  Yes.  yes,  certainly — Abbe  Roche — ah  !  there  it 
is — Abbe  Roche  is  very  intelligent,  as  you  say,  very 
intelligent — " 

At  that  moment  a  servant  opened  the  folding- 
doors  of  the  dining  room.  "  They  are  coming  to  in- 
form us  that  dinner  is  ready,  M.  1'  abb6,"  said  the  cap- 
italist, "  and  the  countess  is  expecting  us." 


Xxxn. 

Mme.  de  Manteigney  had  dreaded  the  coming  of 
Abbe  Desvialle,  of  whose  acuteness  and  penetration 
she  was  well  aware  ;  but  contrary  to  her  expectations 
he  was  by  no  means  inquisitorial.  During  the  whole 
course  of  the  dinner,  one  would  have  supposed  that 
the  amiable  priest  had  devoted  himself  to  the  task 
of  calming  the  countess's  anxiety.  There  was  not 
the  most  distant  allusion  to  the  events  which  occupied 
the  attention  of  the  surrounding  country.  Music 
was  the  topic  of  conversation.  The  archbishop's  en- 
voy was  a  very  tasteful  and  learned  amateur,  and 
talked  most  delightfully.  From  profane  music,  the 
quartettes  of  Mozart,  they  naturally  passed  on  to  the 
/Stabat  of  Pergolesi,  the  Mass  of  Rosini,  and  by  an 
imperceptible  advance,  by  the  time  they  reached  des- 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  259 

sert,  began  to  discuss  the  unheard-of  luxury  of  wom- 
en. The  countess,  relieved  from  all  anxiety,  was 
charmingly  gay  and  bewitching,  the  abbe  dazzling, 
and  Larreau  extremely  wise  and  philosophical;  so  that 
all  three  were  laughing  heartily  as  they  went  into  the 
drawing-room  to  drink  their  coffee. 

It  was  just  at  the  moment  when  the  young  wife 
approached  to  oifer  the  priest  a  cup,  that  the  latter, 
looking  in  her  face  with  the  expression  of  a  man  who 
has  suddenly  recollected  some  forgotten  fact,  said  to 
her :  "  But,  my  dear  Madame,  how  do  you  explain 
the  position  of  your  good  cur6  in  this  affair  of  the 
miracle  ?  " 

Mme.  de  Manteigney  started  and  turned  pale  so 
suddenly  that  Abbe  Desvialle  took  the  cup  from  her 
hands,  fearing  that  she  might  let  it  fall.  "  What  po- 
sition? What  do  you  mean?  I  don't  understand 
you  ?  " 

Her  embarrassment  was  all  the  greater  in  conse- 
quence of  her  former  security.  She  still  smiled,  but 
the  corners  of  her  mouth  twitched  nervously,  and 
her  whole  countenance  expressed  the  most  profound 
anxiety. 

The  priest  cast  down  his  eyes  and  played  with  his 
tiny  coffee  spoon,  then  answered  :  "  Your  father  and 
I  have  been  talking  about  these  events,  and  it  was 
the  remembrance  of  the  conversation  which  induced 
me  to  ask  that  question.  Your  curb's  intolerance, 
Madame,  intolerance  whose  consequences  he  certain- 
ly did  not  calculate,  has  perhaps  had  a  greater  influ- 
ence than  would  be  believed  upon  public  opinion, 
which  he  should  have  left  to  itself,  to  be  freely  mani- 
fested. I  have  heard — it  has  been  everywhere  assert- 
ed that  he  drove  from  the  church  women  who  had 
come  to  pray.  Do  you  not  think  that  was  compro- 
mising his  position  ? " 

Abbe  Desvialle  was  still  stirring  his  coffee,  occa- 
sionally glancing  at  the  countess's  face,  endeavoring 


260  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

to  read  the  meaning  of  her  singular  emotion.  Strange 
to  say,  she  instantly  calmed  herself,  breathed  freely, 
and  said  with  apparent  restraint:  "I  did  not  under- 
stand what  you  meant." 

"  What  could  she  have  imagined  ?  "  thought  the 
priest. 

She  continued,  with  an  ease  of  manner  that  was 
slightly  affected : 

"  M.  le  cure"  was  doubtless  indignant  that  the  story 
of  a  little  rascal  should  have  produced  such  an  excite- 
ment throughout  the  country,  and  probably  feared 
the  superstition  would  do  religion  more  harm  than 
good.  I  do  not  think  he  was  wrong." 

"  That  was  so  much  the  more  reason  for  him  to  be 
calm  and  prudent,  my  darling,"  murmured  Larreau  ; 
"  had  it  not  been  for  M.  Roche's  stormy  violence,  all 
these  rumors  would  have  died  away  of  themselves. 
Religion  is  above  these  trifles,  and  has  no  need  of 
such  Don  Quixotism." 

"  Don't  heed  what  my  father  says,  M.  I'abb6 ;  he 
has  taken  a  prejudice  against  our  poor  cur6,  I  do  not 
know  why." 

"  He  is  a  haughty,  proud,  insincere  man ;  that  is 
my  impression,  I  do  not  know  how  to  dissimulate." 

"  Haughty !  because  his  conscience  rebelled  for 
an  instant  ?  He  was  rather  violent  perhaps,  I  do  not 
— violent  it  may  be  ;  it  would  have  been  better  if  he 
had  controlled  himself,  but  that  is  not  the  question. 
The  real  point  is,  that  in  any  other  place  the  little 
dreamer  would  have  been  sent  to  the  police  station, 
neither  more  nor  less.  Unfortunately,  there  are  no 
gendarmes  at  Grand  Fort,  that  is  the  whole  cause  of 
the  trouble." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  abb6,  playing  with  his  snuff-box 
and  smiling  pleasantly,  "  I  see  that  Mme.  de  Mau^eig- 
ney  is  not  disposed  to  believe  in  the  miracle." 

"  I  ?  Quite  the  contrary." 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  261 

"  Yet,  my  dear  child,  after  what  you  have  just 
told  us,  it  is  plain — " 

"  It  is  plain — it  is  plain.  Everything  is  plain  to 
my  father  at  first  sight ;  nothing  is  obscure,  nothing 
uncertain.  It's  a  very  fortunate  position  to  be  in." 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  this  evening 
my  little  countess  ?  I  do  not  wish  to  vex  you ;  you 
know  very  well  that  I  attach  no  sort  of  importance 
to  the  affair,  and  Abb6  Desvialle  has  too  much  intel- 
ligence, too  much  acuteness,  not  to  judge  of  matters 
precisely  as  I  do." 

"  Then  why  should  not  I  be  as  indifferent  to  the 
whole  adventure  as  you  are  ?  What  has  all  this  to 
do  with  me  ?  "  She  was  becoming  more  and  more 
excited.  "  Let  this  little  peasant,  thanks  to  the  stir 
people  have  made  about  him,  realize  a  magnificent 
speculation,  I  shall  be  delighted  ;  let  him  sell  his  mi- 
raculous Avater  by  thousands  of  bottles ! " 

"  Excuse  me,  my  dear,  the  water  belongs  to  me ; 
he  shall  not  sell  a  drop  without  buying  it  first." 

"  No  matter  !  Let  him  become  immensely  rich, 
let  him  be  canonized,  admitted  to  the  Corps  Legisla- 
tif, — I  will  cry  bravo.  Ha  !  ha !  ha !  that  will  be  charm- 
ing, praiseworthy,  funny  as  possible.  How  many 
other  intriguers  have  made  a  fortune  before  him, 
thanks  to  human  folly !  " 

"  Don't  let  us  urge  the  point,"  whispered  Larreau 
in  the  ear  of  the  priest ;  "  my  daughter  is  nervous 
this  evening,  and  when  women  have  their  nerves,  you 
know — or  rather  you  don't  know — " 

"  Oh  !  I  know  perfectly  well." 

The  poor  lady  was  aware  that  she  had  made  a 
false  step,  that  the  warmth  of  her  attack  upon  the 
miracle  was  by  no  means  convincing,  but  would  rath- 
er tend  to  inspire  distrust.  She  well  knew  that  her 
mode  of  seeing  and  speaking  did  not  befit  a  wo- 
man in  her  position  in  life,  and  would  be  sure  to  sur- 
prise the  archbishop's  envoy ;  but  unfortunately  it 


262  AROUND  A   SPRING. 

was  impossible  for  her  to  keep  cool  and  appear  indif- 
ferent. 

Meantime,  Abb6  Desvialle  was  the  first  to  change 
the  conversation.  The  subject  of  profane  and  sacred 
music  was  again  introduced,  but  the  countess,  dissatis- 
fied with  herself  and  others,  and  fancying  that  she 
detected  some  allusion  in  every  sentence,  was  so  par- 
adoxical and  irritable,  that,  by  M.  Larreau's  sugges- 
tion, they  soon  separated. 

When  once  more  in  his  own  room,  the  agreeable 
priest  bolted  his  door,  opened  a  travelling  bag,  took 
out  some  writing  materials,  and  approached  a  little 
desk  that  stood  near  the  window.  It  was  with  no 
small  surprise  that  he  perceived  on  the  top  of  this 
article  of  furniture,  in  the  very  centre  of  the  desk,  in 
full  view,  a  package  wrapped  in  white  paper,  on 
which  were  these  words  :  "  Doubtless  forgotten  by 
Saint  Joseph  on  the  night  of  the  aparision." 

Abbe"  Desvialle  frowned.  This  coarse  paper  must 
have  been  bought  at  the  village  grocer's.  The  awk- 
ward and  aifectedly  sloping  handwriting,  the  word 
apparition  written  with  an  s  and  only  one  p,  spoke  of 
the  valet  and  the  servant's  hall.  However,  the  abbe 
opened  the  paper,  and  saw  a  carefully  folded  hand- 
kerchief. With  the  tips  of  his  white  fingers,  not 
without  an  emotion  of  disgust,  he  unfolded  the  article 
in  question,  and  following  the  hem,  looked  at  each  of 
the  four  corners  in  succession.  The  last  contained 
the  initial  R.  The  ai-chbishop's  envoy  sat  for  some 
time  lost  in  thought.  His  face  had  totally  changed 
its  expression,  and  the  countess  would  doubtless  have 
been  greatly  terrified  could  she  have  seen  the  depth" 
and  earnestness  of  his  gaze.  After  the  lapse  of  a  few 
moments  he  wrapped  the  handkerchief  again  in  the 
paper,  and  having  placed  the  whole  under  lock  and 
key,  washed  his  hands,  and  seating  himself  at  the  desk, 
began  to  write  slowly  and  thoughtfully,  in  a  large, 
regular,  careful  chirography,  which  could  only  belong 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  2G3 

to  a  man  whose  imagination  would  never  lead  him 
astray  into  the  kingdom  of  fancy. 

To  tell  the  truth,  he  felt  a  little  disconcerted,  not 
by  the  appearance  of  the  handkerchief,  which  had 
merely  confirmed  his  previous  opinion,  but  by  the 
evident  agitation  of  the  countess,  and  the  strange  in- 
tolerance she  had  displayed.  The  archbishop  had  al- 
ready been  for  some  time  quietly  trying  to  obtain  in- 
formation in  regard  to  the  mystery,  and  the  cur6  of 
Virez,  a  very  simple-minded  man  and  a  great  talker, 
had  been  cautiously  sounded ;  the  suspicions  uttered 
about  the  White  Cross  were  soon  learned,  documents 
compared,  and  ere  long  it  was  impossible  to  doubt 
that  Abbe  Roche  had  been  in  some  way,  directly  or 
indirectly,  concerned  in  this  most  embarrassing  mira- 
cle. 

The  unexplained  but  certain  presence  of  a  cur6  in 
the  affair  complicated  matters  greatly ;  but  what 
would  it  be  if  the  countess  were  also  implicated. 
Larreau  was  very  powerful,  the  count  and  his  wife 
well  known  to  all  Paris.  What  might  not  an  exami- 
nation reveal  ?  The  priest  wrote  for  some  time,  and 
went  to  bed  very  late. 


TTXTTT. 

The  following  day,  as  soon  as  Abbe  Desvialle 
rose,  he  looked  in  the  glass  and  rang  the  bell.  The 
free-thinker,  whom  we  have  met  walking  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  the  White  Cross,  and  hiding  something  he  had 
just  found,  instantly  entered  with  the  promptness  of 
a  man  who  has  been  waiting  behind  the  door  for  the 
last  fifteen  minutes.  "My  friend,"  said  the  priest 
without  turning,  but  watching  the  servant's  face  in 
the  glass,  "  bring  me  a  cup  of  black  coffee." 

This  valet  was  a  sly-looking  person,  with  a  turned- 
up  nose  and  very  wide  nostrils  ;  his  face  had  the  sa- 


264  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

tlrical,  aggressive  expression  peculiar  to  the  natives 
of  Paris.  His  first  glance  Avas  directed  towards  the 
writing-desk  where  the  package  had  been  placed.  The 
abbe,  who  was  expecting  it,  maintained  a  perfectly 
unmoved  expression,  stood  motionless,  and  taking  up 
a  nail-brush,  said  :  "  Raise  the  window-curtains  a  lit- 
tle, if  you  please.  Is  it  damp  this  morning?  " 

"  The  air  is  very  dry." 

"  Oh !  very  well.  The  coffee  will  be  ready  imme- 
diately, I  suppose  ?  "  The  priest  had  spoken  with 
the  utmost  indifference;  but  just  as  the  valet  was 
about  to  leave  the  room,  he  turned,  and  looking  at 
him  with  a  winning  smile,  said  :  "  I  was  much  pleased 
with  the  singular  token  you  placed  upon  my  writing- 
table." 

"  What  token  do  you  mean,  Monsieur  Tabb6  ? 
I—" 

"  Then  you  were  not  the  person  who  put  it  there, 
oh  !  very  well.  The  coffee,  if  you  please.  I  alluded 
to  a  curious  pocket-handkerchief  I  found  last  evening, 
and  I  should  have  liked  to  thank — but  since  you  had 
nothing  to  do — " 

The  priest's  expression  was  one  well  adapted  to 
win  confidence.  The  valet  could  not  help  smiling  in 
his  turn,  and  said  in  a  low  tone  :  "  It  was  done  for 
the  best." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  thought.  You  have  man- 
aged very  clevei'ly,  my  son;  I  have  no  doubt  your 
master  will  be  well  pleased  with  you." 

The  free-thinker  was  flattered.  He  closed  the 
door,  which  had  partially  opened,  and,  taking  a  step 
forward,  seemed  to  be  awaiting  permission  to  say 
more. 

"  Have  you  anything  else  to  confide  to  me  on  the 
subject  of — this  handkerchief,  my  good  friend  ?  " 

"  I  only  wished  to  inform  M.  1'abbe"  that  I  found 
it  in  the  place  where  the  apparition  was  seen,  on  the 
following  morning." 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  265 

"  What  made  you  suppose  that  it  was  forgotten 
— you  are  an  intelligent  person — by  some  one  who 
played  the  part  of  Saint  Joseph  ?  Speak  freely,  my 
good  friend,  I  wish  to  ascertain  the  truth  as  well  as 
you.  Come — '' 

"  Bless  me  !  M.  Fabb6,  this  handkerchief  is  exactly 
like  the  ones  used  by  the  cur6  of  Grand  Fort." 

"  Yes — yes.  You  assert  nothing ;  you  merely 
state  a  singular  and  vexatious  coincidence,  a  curious 
i'act,  one  of  those  odd  resemblances  that  are  some- 
times seen  in  pocket  handkerchiefs.  It  never  entered 
your  mind  for  a  single  instant  that  the  good,  Avorthy 
cure  of  the  village  had  anything  to  do  with  the  ap- 
parition ;  that  would  be  absurd,  and  you  did  well  to 
understand  that  such  an  assertion  might  prove  ex- 
tremely dangerous  to  you ;  no,  you  merely  say — 
what  is  very  true —  It  is  very  singular  that — " 

"  Yes,  M.  Tabbe,  that  is  it  exactly." 

"  It  is  very  singular  that  it  should  be  found  at  the 
foot  of  the  White  Cross,  or  very  near  there,  in  a 
place — 

"  Where  no  one  ever  passes." 

"  In  a  place  that  is  extremely  lonely — a  handker- 
chief exactly  like — " 

"  And  even  marked  with  M.  Roche's  initial." 

"  And  even  marked  with  the  letter  R.  Ah  !  there 
might  have  been  a  cottage  occupied  by  some  poor 
family,  some  invalid,  near  by,  and  the  good  cure',  who 
is  so  charitable  to  all  who  suffer,  might  have  lost  his 
handkerchief  in  visiting  the  hut ;  but  you  say  the 
place  is  very  lonely." 

"  Yes,  M.  1'abbe,  nobody  lives  there  except  pere 
Loursiere." 

And  the  servant  related  with  great  minuteness 
the  facts  that  every  one  knows,  the  death  of  the  poor 
girl,  and  the  birth  of  the  child,  whom  the  cure  had 
taken  under  his  charge. 

•'  That  is  all  very  well,"  interrupted  Abbe  Desvi- 


266  AROUND  A  SPUING. 

alle,  "  but  in  the  whole  story,  my  son,  I  see  but  one 
thing,  and  that  is,  that  you  have  found  a  handkerchief 
marked  with  the  letter  R,  nothing  more.  You  are 
by  no  means  authorized  to  suppose  that  any  one  has 
been  playing  the  part  of  Saint  Joseph,  which  would 
be  a  great  crime  in  the  eyes  of  God." 

The  servant  was  not  at  all  disconcerted.  On  the 
contrary,  he  answered  with  a  broad  smile  :  "  I  found 
the  handkerchief  a  short  distance  from  the  White 
Cross  in  a  little  grove  of  pine  trees,  on  the  very  spot 
where  a  donkey  had  been  fastened." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  a  donkey  was  tied — " 

"  Monsieur  1'abbe  is  aware  that  the  ground  under 
pine  trees  is  soft  and  smooth,  and  when  a  donkey  has 
been  stamping  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  under  a  tree, 
it  leaves  marks — marks  that  are  very  easy  to  recog- 
nize. In  apparitions,  donkeys  don't  leave  such  traces. 
That  is  why  I  thought—" 

"  All  that  proves  nothing.  Why  is  it  so  very  ex- 
traordinary that  a  mountaineer  should  have  fastened 
his  beast  in  that  spot,  my  son  ?  " 

"  But  what  reason  does  M.  1'abbe  think  mere  Hi- 
laire  would  have  for  going  to  the  White  Cross  that 
evening,  and  tying  her  donkey  to  a  pine  tree  ?  " 

"  Who  is  mere  Hilaire  ?  How  do  you  knoAV  the 
donkey  in  question  was  hers  ?  These  are  only  mere 
suppositions.  It  is  impossible." 

"  Mere  Hilaire  is  M.  le  cure's  housekeeper,  and 
everybody  in  the  village  is  very  fond  of  her,  she  is 
such  a  good  woman.  Now,  to  explain  the  rest  to  M. 
1'abbe",  I  must  tell  him  that  the  day  after  the  miracle, 
very  early  in  the  morning,  as  I  was  passing  along  the 
terrace,  I  heard  below  me  the  voice  of  a  donkey  com- 
plaining. These  brutes  have  a  way  of  saying  that 
they  have  been  kept  waiting  a  long  time.  Naturally, 
I  leaned  over  the  balustrade,  and  saw  mere  Hilaire's 
ass,  saddled  and  fastened  to  a  bough  in  front  of  the 
little  door  opening  from  the  terrace.  On  seeing  me, 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  267 

the  poor  beast  began  to  bray  still  louder.  It  was 
very  strange  that  mere  Hilaire's  donkey  should  be 
there  at  that  hour.  It  was  not  market-day  at  Virez, 
and  besides,  the  good  woman  never  went  there  so 
early.  I  watched  the  poor  brute  dragging  at  her  rope 
for  an  instant.  The  ground  was  beaten  hard  all  around 
her ;  she  must  have  spent  a  portion  of  the  night  at  the 
foot  of  the  tree.  It  was  very  extraordinary.  Yet  I 
thought  no  more  about  it,  but  as  usual  at  that  hour, 
went  to  the  village  to  drink  some  white  wine — I 
mean — " 

"  Go  on  !  go  on  !  White  wine  is  very  healthful 
in  mountainous  countries." 

"  Monsieur  I'abb6  is  very  kind.  I  had  scarcely 
reached  the  village,  when  I  saw  people  talking  earnest- 
ly together,  and  soon  met  M.  le  cure's  housekeeper 
walking  along  very  fast.  I  stopped  her  and  said : 
'  Mere  Hilaire,  do  you  happen  to  be  looking  for  your 
donkey  ? '  " 

"  Suppose  I  am,  where  is  it  ?  " 

"  At  the  foot  of  the  terrace  at  the  chateau.  Who 
fastened  it  there  for  you  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  I  will  go  and  get  it." 

"  And  she  passed  on  without  saying  more.  Just 
at  that  moment  several  peasants  approached  me  and 
related  the  story  of  the  night  before,  the  apparition 
and  all  the  rest.  As  I  like  to  obtain  information,  I 
went  that  very  day  to  examine  the  place  where  all 
this  had  occurred,  and  at  the  first  glance  saw  the  hoof- 
prints  of  a  donkey,  which  led  me  to  reflect.  I  natur- 
ally looked  carefully  around,  climbed  a  little  slope 
where  the  earth  was  freshly  cut,  and  found  myself 
under  the  pine  tree,  where  I  saw  on  the  ground  the 
handkerchief  that  M.  1'abbe  has  in  his  possession." 

"  Was  there  any  impression  of  a  man's  foot  among 
the  hoof-prints  ? " 

"  I  thought  of  that  at  once,  searched,  and  soon  dis- 
covered several.  One  of  them,  in  particular,  was  so 


268  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

distinct  that  I  could  count  the  number  of  nails.  There 
was  only  one  row  inside,  and  two  on  the  outer  edge, 
twenty-seven  nails  in  all." 

"  You  are  a  close  observer,  my  dear  friend." 

"  It  is  natural  to  me ;  but  if  M.  Pabbe"  thinks  me  a 
chatterer,  I  will  say  no  more." 

"  Pray  go  on." 

"  Well  then,  as  I  left  the  little  pine  grove,  I  saw 
M.  le  cure' ;  he  was  speaking  to  several  peasants  who 
had  come  to  pray  before  the  stone,  and  was  so  much 
excited  that  he  instantly  put  a  throng  of  suspicious 
thoughts  into  my  head,  each  one  more  strange  than 
the  other.  I  thought  of  the  donkey  fastened  at  the 
foot  of  the  terrace,  and  remembered  that  the  good 
woman  did  not  answer  me  when  I  asked  who  had 
left  the  beast  before  the  little  door ;  all  these  things 
crowded  into  my  mind  so  fast,  that  instead  of  return- 
ing directly  to  the  chateau,  I  took  a  circuitous  way 
to  gain  the  path  which  M.  le  cure"  must  take  on  his 
return  home.  On  reaching  a  spot  with  which  I  was 
familiar, — a  sunken  hollow  where  the  earth  is  always 
moist, — I  concealed  myself,  that  M.  Roche  might  not 
perceive  me.  Ten  minutes  after,  I  heard  the  sound 
of  his  steps  ;  he  was  walking  rapidly,  and  yet  it  seemed 
as  if  he  moved  slowly,  so  great  was  my  curiosity. 
When  he  had  passed,  I  went  back  into  the  path,  look- 
ed on  the  ground — and  there  were  two  rows  of  nails 
on  the  outer  edge  and  one  within,  twenty-seven  in 
all." 

"  But  what  leads  you  to  think  that  mere  Hilaire's 
donkey  was  the  one  whose  foot-prints  you  saw  near 
the  White  Cross  ?  " 

"  I  could  inform  M.  I'abb6,  only  I  shall  be  obliged 
to  confess  that  I  was  compelled  to  tell  a  lie  in  order 
to  find  out." 

"  There  may  be  circumstances  in  which  a  lie  is 
pardonable.  Tell  the  truth." 

"  Well,  Monsieur,  I  was  very  anxious  to  put  the 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  269 

hoof  of  the  good  woman's  donkey  into  one  of  the 
prints  on  the  slope ;  so,  after  dinner,  I  went  to  M.  le 
curb's  housekeeper,  and  said  to  her :  '  Mere  Hilaire, 
the  countess  has  sent  me  to  ask  if  you  will  lend  her 
your  donkey  to  ride  through  the  valley.  Sophie 
limps  ;  I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter  with  her.'  M. 
1'abbe  perhaps  does  not  know  that  the  countess's 
donkey  is  named  Sophie.  Naturally,  mere  Hilaire 
brought  out  her  donkey  at  once,  and  to  prevent  sus- 
picion, I  added  :  '  Don't  saddle  her,  Sophie's  will  fit 
very  well.' " 

"  And  you  led  the  animal  to  the  White  Cross — " 

"  And  under  the  pine  trees  too.  I  took  the  beast's 
hoof  more  than  twenty  times  and  placed  it  in  the 
prints,  which  it  fitted  like  a  glove.  Oh  !  yes,  indeed, 
I—" 

"  You  seem  to  be  a  great  talker,  my  lad,"  Abb6 
Desvialle  suddenly  exclaimed,  re-assuming  his  priest- 
ly air  and  lofty  bearing.  "  I  think  I  asked  you  for  a 
cup  of  coifee.  Bring  it  to  me  at  once." 

The  amazed  valet  withdrew,  not  knowing  exactly 
whether  to  be  glad  or  sorry  that  he  had  been  so  ex- 
tremely confidential. 


xxxrv. 

Since  the  countess's  visit,  Abb6  Roche  had  suffer- 
ed deeply.  Faithful  to  the  promise  he  had  given,  he 
had  avoided  all  public  demonstrations.  Besides,  what 
could  he  have  done,  what  could  he  have  said  ?  Does 
not  one  double  the  strength  of  a  stream  by  opposing 
it  ever  so  slightly  ?  But  when  he  was  alone  in  his 
room,  and  had  bolted  the  door,  he  could  no  longer 
resist  the  emotions  of  his  nature,  and  mere  Hilaire 
often  heard  the  sound  of  violent  sobs. 

For  fifteen  years  he  had  made  himself  a  peasant, 
a  mountaineer,  that  he  might  the  better  understand 


270  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

those  whom  heaven  had  entrusted  to  his  care,  enter 
more  fully  into  their  lives,  win  their  confidence  and 
affection.  He  had  spent  the  whole  strength  of  his 
youth  to  render  himself  worthy  of  his  mission,  and  sud- 
denly, without  the  power  of  uttering  a  complaint,  saw 
himself  abandoned  by  all.  They  had  understood  noth- 
ing, nor  wished  to  understand  anything  :  they  had  con- 
sidered him  merely  as  an  official,  paid  for  regularly  dis- 
charging a  duty  similar  to  that  of  a  teacher — a  sort  of 
rustic  watchman ;  and  when  he  had  addressed  them 
from  the  old  pulpit  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  encircling 
with  his  love  the  whole  great  family  before  him,  min- 
gling his  prayers  with  theirs,  and  believing  himself  be- 
loved in  his  turn,  he  had  been  the  plaything,  the  sport 
of  an  illusion  ! 

For  fifteen  years  he  had  lived  without  suspecting 
it  in  a  desert,  more  isolated,  a  thousand  times  more 
solitary,  than  on  the  morning  of  his  birth.  "  And 
after  all,"  he  thought,  ';  have  they  not  a  right  to  avoid 
me  ?  They  instinctively  divined  that  they  could  not 
trust  me.  Did  I  not  forget  them  all  for  her  sake  on 
the  first  occasion  that  offered  ?  " 

He  felt  overwhelmed  with  shame  as  he  thought 
that  he  had  formerly  deceived  himself  in  regard  to 
his  own  feelings,  and  mistaken  the  emotion  of  a  pas- 
sionate temperament  for  a  holy  vocation.  Had  he 
then  loved  God  because  of  the  absence  of  a  human 
object  ?  He  had  taken  for  an  inspiration  from  on  high 
what  was  merely  the  agitation  of  his  pride,  seeking  to 
poetize  the  most  profane  of  all  feelings.  He  had  be- 
lieved himself  to  be  a  minister  of  God,  when  he  was 
only  a  sensual,  passionate  man.  Searching  his 
thoughts,  he  remembered  the  outbursts  of  love .  that 
lie  had  felt,  when  amidst  his  prayers  he  had  pressed 
his  lips  to  the  altar,  and  recalling  at  the  same  time 
the  emotions  that  other  kisses  had  aroused  within 
him,  he  compared  the  two  with  alarm,  believing  that 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  271 

he  discovered  a  resemblance  between  them  which 
made  him  shudder. 

"  Then  for  twenty  years  I  have  loved  her  without 
knowing  it,"  said  he  to  himself;  "  all  that  went  be- 
fore was  only  a  long,  accursed  preface  to  the  most  un- 
worthy baseness !  They  make  way  for  me,  avoid  me, 
fear  to  meet  me.  Is  it  not  just  ?  Do  I  not  fear  my- 
self; do  not  I,  too,  strive  to  avoid  myself?  " 

It  is  certain  that  the  obstinate  silence  of  Abbe 
Roche  exerted  more  and  more  restraint  upon  the  en- 
thusiasm of  this  bewitched  country.  The  countess 
herself — I  grieve  to  say — sought  and  found  pretexts 
to  avoid  meeting  him.  There  was  a  sort  of  under- 
standing between  them  that  weighed  upon  her  more 
heavily  as  the  consequences  became  more  serious. 
Her  fate  was  in  the  hands  of  the  cure  of  Grand  Fort. 
Let  even  a  word  escape  his  lips,  and  a  most  frightful 
scandal  would  result,  a  scandal  of  which  the  count  as 
well  as  herself  would  be  the  victim.  Now,  after 
having  felt  most  earnest  gratitude  to  the  priest  for  the 
promise  he  had  made,  she  began  to  question  whether 
he  would  keep  his  word ;  and,  in  her  anxiety,  imagin- 
ed a  thousand  circumstances  under  which  the  poor 
cure  would  not  have  the  strength  and  courage  to  keep 
silence  and  maintain  his  apparent  indifference.  She 
began  to  suffer  from  the  thought  of  being  at  his  mer- 
cy, and  instinctively  revenged  herself  by  suspecting 
him. 

Besides,  could  she  place  entire  confidence  in  this 
singular  priest,  this  strange  man,  who,  under  the  im- 
pulse of  some  unaccountable  frenzy,  had  taken  advan- 
tage of  the  darkness  and  solitude  to  clasp  her  in  his 
arms  and  cover  her  with  kisses.  Was  it  not  unheard-of, 
monstrous  ?  She  thought  of  it  again.  Had  she  not  rea- 
son to  be  offended  and  to  doubt  his  promise  ?  The 
thought  that  she  was  obliged  to  conciliate  him,  in 
spite  of  all  this,  added  to  her  embarrassment.  To 
her,  also,  Abb6  Roche's  presence  was  a  constraint ! 


272  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

She  could  not  think  of  him  without  remembering  the 
absurd  visit  she  made  to  p&re  Loursiere :  an  unpar- 
donable, compromising,  dangerous,  aimless,  foolish 
proceeding.  The  horrible  man  had  made  sport  of  her. 
Why  had  the  cure"  of  Grand  Fort  aided  her  in  her 
folly  ?  Ought  he  not  to  have  prevented  it,  unless  he 
had  anticipated  the  unpardonable  scene  which  result- 
ed from  his  yielding  to  her  wishes  ?  These  reflec- 
tions constantly  pursued  her.  Not  wishing  to  enter 
the  priest's  house  again,  she  had  begged  her  father  to 
invite  the  cure  to  dine  at  the  chateau  ;  butM.  Larreau 
said  decidedly  that  he  wished  to  have  nothing  more 
to  do  with  the  priest,  and  Mme.  de  Manteigney  yield- 
ed, very  glad  in  her  heart  to  have  a  pretext  for 
avoiding  the  poor  man,  whose  presence  most  un- 
pleasantly reminded  her  of  her  absurd  expedition 
and  the  various  perplexities  it  had  entailed. 


XXXV. 

The  cure"  of  Grand-Fort-le-Haut  was  breakfasting 
upon  a  raw  artichoke  sprinkled  with  pepper  and  salt, 
when  Abbe  Desvialle,  after  a  light  tap  at  the  door, 
entered  the  room.  The  cur6  rose,  and  turning  calm- 
ly towards  the  new  -  comer,  said  :  "  What  do  you 
wish,  Monsieur  I'abb6  ?  " 

The  archbishop's  envoy  was  disconcerted  for  an 
instant  by  the  sight  of  his  grave  and  dignified,  almost 
imposing  bearing.  This  was  by  no  means  the  sort 
of  personage  whom  he  had  expected  to  meet.  We 
form  our  ideas  of  people  according  to  the  good  or 
bad  qualities  we  suppose  them  to  possess,  and  Abbe 
Desvialle  had  imagined  the  village  cur6  to  be  a  little, 
active,  nervous  man,  with  twinkling  eyes,  thin  lips, 
and  red  cheeks ;  he  expected  an  eager  welcome  ;  he 
knew  that  type  of  men,  and  understood  what  manner 
to  adopt  towards  them;  but  at  sight  of  this  sad, 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  273 

honest  countenance,  with  the  large,  clear  eyes  that 
steadfastly  met  his  own,  and  the  simple,  somewhat 
haughty  bearing,  lie  perceived  that  he  had  a  thor- 
oughly reliable  man  before  him. 

Besides,  it  was  not  merely  the  curb's  personal  ap- 
pearance that  surprised  him;  the  interior  of  the  hum- 
ble dwelling  revealed  a  life  wholly  destitute  of  all 
ambition,  luxury  or  human  weakness ;  an  existence 
filled  with  those  austere  virtues  which  the  elegant 
abbe  prized  all  the  more  because  so  utterly  a  stranger 
to  them.  He  looked  at  the  artichoke,  half-stripped 
of  its  skin,  and  remembering  the  crutch  of  Sixtus  V. 
said :  "  I  am  very  sorry,  M.  le  cure",  that  I  have  not 
dined  with  you  at  the  chateau  as  I  hoped  to  do.  I 
have  been  very  anxious  to  find  an  opportunity  of 
conversing  with  you." 

"  I  received  no  invitation  to  the  dinner  you  men- 
tion, Monsieur ;  but  under  any  circumstances  it  would 
have  beeii  impossible  for  me  to  accept  it." 

"  Yet  I  understood  the  countess  to  say  she  ex- 
pected you." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Monsieur.  Will  you  take  a 
seat  ?  " 

"  This  is  an  intriguer  of  no  common  order," 
thought  Abbe  Desvialle,  as  he  sat  down  and  instant- 
ly made  an  involuntary  grimace,  which  he  quickly 
repressed,  not  wishing  to  show  the  unusual  and  disa- 
greeable sensation  he  experienced  at  the  contact  with 
the  hard  chairs  of  the  priest's  abode. 

"  Monsieur  le  cure,"  he  continued,  "  I  have  taken 
advantage  of  my  visit  to  the  chateau  to  call  upon  you. 
My  action,  I  will  at  once  inform  you,  is  not  official. 
I  was  very  anxious  to  have  your  opinion  concerning 
the  very  singular  events  that  have  occurred  in  your 
parish,  and,  as  you  know,  are  having  a  wide-spread 
circulation.  The  esteem  the  archbishop  has  aJniya 
felt  for  you  leads  him  to  attach  great  importance  to 
your  impressions  in  regard  to  this  affair,  in  which  he 
18 


274  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

is  compelled  to  act  with  the  utmost  circtimspection. 
Once  more,  I  assure  you  that  I  have  not  come  to 
make  an  investigation ;  I  repeat  that  my  action  is 
not  official;  pray  be  convinced  of  the  fact." 

Abb6  lioche,  still  unmoved,  looked  steadily  into 
the  face  of  his  interlocutor,  who,  despite  his  usual 
ease  of  manner,  felt  somewhat  embarrassed  by  the 
earnestness  of  the  gaze.  "  To  whom  have  I  the 
pleasure  of  speaking,"  said  he  at  last. 

"  Ah !  pray  excuse  me,  I  forgot  to  announce  my- 
self. I  am  Abbe  Desvialle  ;  perhaps  you  have  heard 
my  name." 

"  Never,  Monsieur." 

"  The  archbishop  deigns  to  bestow  his  confidence 
and  friendship  upon  me ;  and  my  desire  to  have  your 
opinion  in  regard  to  this  apparition  of  the  White 
Cross  is  only  the  echo  of  your  Superior's,  Monsieur 
le  cur6." 

"  Question  me,  as  the  archbishop  has  ordered 
you  to  do  so." 

"  You  give  my  visit  a  different  character  from  the 
one  I  wished  to  adopt;  but  I  will  do  whatever  you 
prefer.  I  ask  you  then,  Monsieur,  if  you  have  any 
reason  for  recognizing  a  supernatural  character  in  the 
apparition  of  which  every  one  is  talking." 

"  I  affirm  that  all  these  facts,  which,  notwithstand- 
ing my  efforts,  have  had  a  publicity  that  I  deplore, 
are  not  in  the  slightest  degree  miraculous." 

"  That  is  a  frank  reply.  Then  I  suppose  you  can 
explain  this  pretended  miracle,  and  are  not  ignorant 
of  any  of  the  details  of  the  affair." 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  Fabbe." 

"  And  can  you  tell  me  what  you  know  of  it  ?  " 

"  No,  Monsieur,  that  is  quite  impossible." 

The  two  priests  looked  each  other  in  the  face  for 
9,  moment. 

"  You  cannot,  or  you  will  not,  M.  le  cur6  ? " 

"  I  neither  can  nor  will." 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  275 

'  Remember  that  this  is  a  very  serious  matter." 

'  I  am  aware  of  it." 

'  And  that  the  archbishop — " 

'  You  are  not  my  Superior.  Monsieur  1'abbe"." 

'  That  the  archbishop,  I  say,  can  command  you 
to  speak,  compel  you  to  make  a  full  confession." 

"  It  is  his  place  to  give  me  his  orders  verbally, 
and  mine  to  decide  how  far  my  conscience  will  allow 
me  to  obey." 

"  You  carry  matters  with  a  very  high  hand,  M.  le 
cure"." 

"  And  you  judge  from  a  very  low  standpoint, 
Monsieur,  if  you  suppose  that  fear  would  make  me 
utter  what  I  had  decided  to  withhold." 

Abbe  Desvialle  was  an  extremely  gentle  and 
wary  man,  skilful  in  mild  persuasions,  and  fond  of 
diplomatic  strategems  ;  but  he  felt  ill  at  ease  when 
opposed  to  this  bar  of  steel,  and  was  actually  some- 
what intimidated  by  the  cure's  quiet  firmness.  He 
continued : 

"  The  words  which  have  just  escaped  your  lips 
will  not  be  repeated  to  the  archbishop,  I  assure  you. 
You  are  evidently  under  the  influence  of  some  ex- 
citement." 

"  I  am  perfectly  calm,  and  have  said  exactly  what 
I  mean." 

"  But  you  have  not  thought  of  the  deplorable 
consequences  that  this  extraordinary  afiair  may  entail 
upon  our  holy  religion  !  Do  you  not  know  that  the 
papers  have  taken  up  the  matter,  that  it  is  every- 
where discussed,  analyzed,  sifted,  perverted  ?  " 

"I  know  all  that,  and  was  the  first  to  suffer." 

"  Yet  there  is  one  infallible  method  of  calming  all 
this  uproar;  namely,  by  publicly  and  frankly  ex- 
plaining the  natural  facts  which  gave  rise  to  this  un- 
fortunate event." 

"  I  can  explain  nothing." 

"  Come,  my  dear  cure,"  said  Abbe  Desvialle, draw- 


276  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

ing  his  chair  forward,  "  let  us  speak  freely  to  each 
other.  No  doubt  you  are  prejudiced  against  me. 
Must  I  repeat  once  more  that  my  intentions  are  per- 
fectly friendly,  that  your  firmness  interests  me,  and 
that  J  have  the  most  earnest  desire  to  conciliate  all 
parties.  Speak  to  me  frankly,  tell  me  what  you 
know;  remember  that  the  honor  of  the  priesthood  is 
at  stake,  that  your  contumacy  may  furnish  the  ene- 
mies of  religion,  already  too  numerous,  with  a  dan- 
gerous weapon  ;  think  that  the  archbishop  is  wounded 
by  all  that  has  occurred.  You  do  not  answer  ?  Yet 
surely  you  must  understand  that  I  come  to  hold  out 
my  hand  to  you,  that  I  wish  to  find  some  means  of 
helping  you  out  of  this  difficulty.  Are  you  aware 
that  your  mode  of  action  is  interpreted  in  a  manner 
very  injurious  to  you?  I  have  not  sought  for  infor- 
mation in  regard  to  the  affair,  it  lias  been  given  me 
unasked.  We  know,  beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt, 
that  during  the  night  of  the  miracle,  as  your  parish- 
ioners call  it,  you  were  wandering  over  the  moun- 
tains. For  what  reason  ?  I  believe  the  motive  to  be  a 
perfectly  honorable  one,  but  what  is  it  ?  Some  one  even 
sent  me — no, details  are  insignificant  in  such  a  matter 
— some  one  even  sent  rne  a  pocket-handkerchief  that 
was  found  near  the  White  Cross,  under  the  pine  trees, 
where  a  donkey,  belonging  to  your  housekeeper,  had 
been  fastened."  The  cure  could  not  restrain  a  sudden 
start,  which  was  instantly  noticed  by  his  judge. 
"  What  reply  shall  I  give  to  people  who  have  the 
boldness  to  assert  that  the  pocket-handkerchief  is 
very  much  like  those  you  use  ?  Here  it  is,  still 
wrapped  in  the  paper  envelope  in  which  it  was  sent 
to  me.  Read  what  is  written  there,  and  judge  for 
yourself  how  malicious  are  the  interpretations  of  the 
villagers,  how  important  it  is  to  put  an  end  to  these 
reports,  to  elucidate  the  affair." 

Abbe"   Roche,  as   has   already   been   mentioned, 
grew  calmer  and  more  steadfast  at  the  approach  of 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  277 

danger.  As  he  saw  himself  more  utterly  ruined,  the 
feeling  of  personal  dignity  increased.  "  The  hand- 
kerchief is  mine,"  he  replied  without  hesitation. 

"  But  the  story  of  the  child  that  you  carried  away 
at  midnight,  and  the  death  of  the  poor  girl  without 
confession,  are  they  fables  also  ?  " 

"  No,  they  are  facts." 

"  Then  all  that  has  been  said  of  you  must  be 
taken  literally,  M.  le  cure;  you  do  not  fear  scandal 
apparently.  Must  I  remind  you  of  the  sale  of  a  relic 
belonging  to  your  church,  a  sale  whose  publicity — " 

Abb6  Roche  turned  pale,  started  suddenly  from 
his  chair  and  exclaimed :  "That  is  a  falsehood  !  who- 
ever said  it  is  a  scoundrel !  " 

The  archbishop's  envoy  recoiled  a  pace  or  two, 
and  speaking  with  all  the  more  calmness  because  he 
felt  somewhat  disturbed,  said  quietly :  "  Avoid  such 
outbursts,  M.  le  cure,  they  only  aggravate  your  posi- 
tion. Remember  that  the  purchaser  of  that  relic — 
that  precious  statuette — belongs  to  a  circle  where 
there  is  not,  where  there  cannot  be,  a  scoundrel.  I 
have  had  the  honor  of  meeting  Viscount  Claudius 
frequently,  and  I  never — " 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  you,  Monsieur,  so  much 
the  worse.  He  lied  to  me,  deceived  me,  robbed  our 
poor  church  :  he  picked  up  the  scattered  fragments 
in  a  corner,  and  said  to  me  :  '  Give  me  this,  it  has  no 
value.'  I  believed  him.  and  he  carried  it  away.  That 
is  the  truth,  Monsieur." 

"  That  is  not  what  he  says.  What  are  we  to  be- 
lieve ? "  added  the  archbishop's  envoy  with  a  very 
meaning  smile. 

"  Do  you  consider  my  word  as  nothing,  Mon- 
sieur ? "  murmured  Abbe  Roche,  in  a  suppressed 
tone. 

"  Oh  !  of  course,  under  any  other  circumstances, 
a  cure's  word  would  have  great  weight ;  but  you  have 
placed  yourself  in  such  a  situation  that,  for  the  mo- 


278  AHOUND  A   SPRING. 

mcnt,  you  will  admit  that  we  cannot  have  implicit 
confidence  in  you.  It  is  to  be  feared — I  mean,  that 
your  memory  might  play  you  false.  Keep  cool,  I 
entreat  you,  in  behalf  of  your  own  interests." 

The  curb's  face  had  the  expression  of  a  man  sud- 
denly overwhelmed  by  some  disaster.  He  crossed 
his  arms  upon  his  breast,  sat  down  again,  and  re- 
mained motionless,  while  large  drops  of  perspiration 
trickled  down  his  forehead. 

Although  Abb6  Desvialle's  opinion  \vas  fully  de- 
cided in  regard  to  the  man  before  him,  he  was  really 
touched  by  the  terrible  anguish  expressed  in  the 
curb's  countenance.  "  The  unfortunate  man,"  he 
thovight,  "has  rushed  heedlessly  into  this  adventure. 
Ambition  has  made  him  half  mad,  and  he  thought 
himself  strong  enough  to  make  a  second  /Salette. 
Yes,  he  is  a  man  of  energy,  but  that  is  not  sufficient." 
He  continued  more  mildly  :  "  Do  not  attempt  a  use- 
less resistance,  M.  le  cure,  you  would  only  be  crushed. 
You  perceive  that  these  juggleries  must  cease.  Go 
without  delay,  and  throw  yourself  at  the  archbishop's 
feet ;  implore  his  paternal  indulgence.  As  for  me, 
I  no  longer  wish  to  know  what  part  you  have  played 
in  this  deplorable  business ;  I  will  close  my  eyes, 
stop  my  ears.  However  guilty  you  may  be,  however 
forgetful  of  your  duties  as  a  priest,  your  dignity  as — " 

"  But  who  gives  you  a  right  to  judge  me  ? "  cried 
the  cur6.  "Who  gives  you  a  right  to  force  your  wTay 
into  my  house  and  insult  me  thus  ?  Is  not  your  task 
completed,  Monsieur  ? " 

Abb6  Desvialle  grew  pale  in  his  turn,  and  chang- 
ing his  tone,  replied  :  "  I  can  now  inform  you.  Mon- 
sieur, that  I  am  here  by  the  orders  of  the  archbishop, 
who,  in  his  prudence,  did  not  wish  to  commence  an 
investigation  before  having  studied  the  question.  You 
yourself  assure  me  that  this  first  duty  is  completed  ; 
then  nothing  more  remains  for  me  to  do  except  to 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  279 

read  this  letter,  whose  entire  contents  wei-e  written  by 
the  archbishop's  own  hand." 

Abbe  Desvialle  drew  a  folded  paper  from  his 
pocket,  and  having  opened  it  with  the  ease  whose  se- 
cret has  been  preserved  by  the  Comedie-Francaise, 
read  these  simple  words  :  '"At  the  day  and  hour  in- 
dicated by  Abbe  Desvialle,  on  whom  I  here  bestow 
full  power,  the  cure  of  Grand  Fort  will  set  out  im- 
mediately, without  delay,  and  report  himself  at  the 
archbishopric.'  The  letter  is  signed,  as  you  can  see.:' 

"  I  will  obey  my  archbishop,  Monsieur." 

"  It  is  better  for  you — for  every  one,  that  your  de- 
parture should  not  be  too  much  noticed.  You  might 
leave  this  place  to-night,  for  instance,  you  have  the 
whole  day  to  make  your  arrangements.  By  leaving 
on  foot,  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening,  you  can 
reach  Virez  in  time  to  take  the  coach,  which  passes,  I 
believe,  at  eleven.  I  do  not  know  what  the  archbish- 
op's decision  concerning  you  will  be,  but  I  advise  you 
to  arrange  everything  for  an  absence  which  may  be 
prolonged." 

'  Very  well,  Monsieur." 

'  You  grieve  me,  M.  le  cure',  you  really  grieve 
me.' 

'  I  wish  you  good-morning." 

'  May  God  watch  over  you." 


XXXVI. 

Evening  had  arrived.  Mere  Hilaire,  kneeling  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  was  packing  her  cure's  books 
and  clothing  in  a  large  trunk.  From  time  to  time 
she  stopped,  silently  wiped  her  eyes,  and  resumed  her 
work.  "  Monsieur  le  cure,"  said  she  timidly,  without 
turning,  lest  he  might  see  her  red  eyes  and  troubled 
face,  u  Monsieur  le  cure,  have  you  taken  your  woolen 
stockings  ? " 


280  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

Abb6  Roche,  who  was  buckling  a  little  portman- 
teau similar  to  .those  that  horsemen  formerly  carried 
strapped  to  their  saddles,  seemed  not  to  have  exactly 
comprehended  the  good  woman's  question.  "  It  is 
very  well,"  said  he,  "  it  is  very  well !  " 

And  mere  Hilaire  dared  not  say  more. 

Meantime  the  priest  took  the  light,  approached 
the  crucifix  hanging  on  the  wall,  and  taking  it  down 
placed  it  on  the  table,  carefully  wiped  away  the  dust 
that  had  lodged  in  the  corners,  raised  it  as  if  to  ex- 
amine it  more  closely,  and,  while  mere  Hilaire's  back 
was  turned,  noiselessly  kissed  it,  then  rubbed  the 
ivory  sevei'al  times,  doubtless  fearing  that  it  might 
have  been  sullied  by  contact  with  his  lips.  He  next 
took  a  clean  white  napkin  from  the  great  trunk, 
wrapped  the  crucifix  in  it,  joined  the  edges  and  tried 
to  fasten  them  with  pins;  but  as  his  hands  trembled 
and  his  eyes  were  filled  with  tears,  he  could  not  see 
very  clearly,  and  said  to  the  housekeeper  in  a  voice 
that  he  strove  to  keep  firm  :  "  Mere  Hilaire,  will  you 
put  in  these  pins  ?  I  cannot  manage  them  with  my 
big  fingers." 

While  the  old  woman  did  as  she  had  been  request- 
ed, Abbe  Roche  seated  himself  at  the  little  table, 
took  a  sheet  of  paper  and  wrote  :  "  Madame  la  com- 
tesse,  you  thought  my  ivory  Christ  worthy  of  your 
notice,  permit  me — " 

Crushing  the  paper,  he  took  a  fresh  sheet  and  be- 
gan :  "  Madame  la  comtesse — " 

He  sat  for  a  few  moments  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the'words,  then  rose  and  approaching  his  housekeep- 
er said :  "  Mere  Hilaire,  to-morrow  morning  you  will 
go  to  the  chateau." 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  le  cure." 

"  You  will  ask  to  speak  with  the  countess  in  pii- 
vate,  give  her  this  crucifix,  and  tell  her  it  conies  from. 
me." 

"  Then  you  won't  take  it  with  you,  M.  le  cur6. 


ABOUND  A  SPBINGf.  281 

You  will  be  sorry  not  to  have  it,  my  child.  She 
doesn't  need  it." 

"  You  will  do  as  I  tell  you,  will  you  not  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will ;  but  when  you  corne  home  and 
find  it  gone — 

"  Perhaps  I  may  not  come  back  for  some  time , 
that  depends  upon  what  the  archbishop — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  if  the  archbishop  should  give  you  an- 
other parish,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  Perhaps,  yes." 

"  You  are  no  longer  contented  here,  these  people 
are  not  worthy  of  you.  I  don't  know  what  notion 
they  have  taken  into  their  heads,  but  they  are  not 
good  for  much,  they  are  ungrateful  wretches,  all  of 
them — yes,  all.  I  have  heard  them,  I  know  them. 
God  will  punish  them.  They  have  grieved  you,  made 
you  unhappy !  Ah !  the  archbishop  knows  all  that,  I  am 
sure  ;  he  will  give  you  another  parish  and  I  shall  join 
you — and  we  will  begin  over  again.  You  will  see  the 
archbishop  to-morrow ;  then  write  to  me  immediately 
and  I  will  set  out  with  the  trunks.  If  we  go  far  away, 
well !  so  much  the  better,  perhaps  the  people  will  be 
kinder  than  they  are  here.  When  you  arrive —  When 
you  arrive — write  only  these  words  :  '  M6re  Hilaire, 
come.'  That  is  all  I  shall  ask.  Oh  !  if  I  could  only 
go  with  you !  but  you  are  right,  M.  le  cur6,  I  should 
be  in  your  way,  old  people  like  me  cannot  walk  very 
well.'' 

The  poor  woman  spoke  with  increasing  excite- 
ment, clipping  her  sentences,  suddenly  interrupting 
herself.  She  moved  uneasily  around  the  priest, 
watching  him  as  a  mother  does  her  child  when  about 
to  part  with  it,  and  finding  no  other  pretext  to  ap- 
proach him  once  more,  began  to  brush  his  shabby 
cassock,  patting  and  caressing  it  with  her  old  hands. 
As  she  did  so,  she  said  to  herself:  "  If  I  should  never 
see  him  again — oh  !  God,  suppose  I  should  never  see 
him  again  ! — You  know,"  she  continued,  "  I  have  put 


282  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

fifty  crowns  in  your  portmanteau.  They  belong  to 
you,  I  saved  them  from  your  own  money,  but  did  not 
tell  you  before  because  you  would  have  asked  me  for 
them  and  given  them  to  those  rascals.  They  are  in 
the  left  hand  corner  wrapped  in  the  handkerchiefs." 

And  she  asked  God's  pardon  for  telling  a  lie  ;  the 
silver  was  really  her  own,  but  how  could  she  let  her 
child  depart  without  a  penny 

The  cure  had  been  standing  motionless  looking  at 
the  linen  which  concealed  the  crucifix.  The  good 
woman's  words  gave  a  new  direction  to  his  sorrowful 
thoughts,  and  he  murmured :  "  Thank  you,  mother, 
thank  you,  my  good  mother  ! 

"  It  is  only  a  little  excursion,  nothing  more  ;  but 
you  will  walk  fast  and  get  very  much  heated.  When 
you  reach  Virez  you  will  call  for  a  glass  of  nice,  hot 
wine — promise  me,  M.  le  cur6.  And  you  will  take  a 
seat — not  outside,  but  in  the  coach,  won't  you  ?  In- 
side the  coach. 

The  priest  turned  slowly  towards  her,  clasped  her 
in  his  arms,  and  both  sobbed  aloud  :  "  I  am  unhappy, 
my  dear  mother,"  said  he;  u  do  not  forget  me,  I  have 
no  one  but  you — pray  for  me — I  am  very  unhappy." 

Suddenly  he  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height, 
and  looking  at  his  watch,  exclaimed :  "  It  is  ten 
o'clock,  I  must  go  lest  I  should  lose  the  coach. 

"  Certainly,  my  child,  certainly,  you  must  go. 

She  ran  to  a  closet,  took  out  a  glass,  poured  some 
wine  into  it  with  a  trembling  hand,  and  weeping  and 
smiling  at  the  same  moment,  held  it  toAvards  the  cure  : 
"  Drink  it,  drink  it.  Now  go — go  quickly."  She 
threw  his  cloak  over  his  arm  and  handed  him  his 
portmanteau  and  cane,  saying  :  "  Walk  straight  on 
without  looking  back — you  will  write  to  me;  I  love 
you,  my  child.  I  love  you.  May  God  and  the  Holy 
Virgin  protect  and  be  with  you.  You  will  write  to 
me  to-morrow  evening  ? 

"  To-morrow  evening.'' 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  283 

She  had  taken  his  hand  again,  and  while  kissing  it, 
although  he  made  no  attempt  to  withdraw,  said: 
"  Pardon  me,  M.  le  cure,  pardon  me." 

He  left  the  house.  The  air  was  heavy;  a  fine,  pen- 
etrating rain  began  to  fall.  Abb6  Roche  looked  at 
the  old  belfry  and  dark  porch,  raising  his  hat  as  if  to 
salute  his  past,  then  turned  into  the  path  that  winds 
along  behind  the  village.  It  was  not  a  departure,  but 
a  flight.  He  had  been  ordered  not  to  attract  atten- 
tion, and  he  obeyed  by  avoiding  the  village.  The 
confused  murmur  of  the  shouts  of  belated  drunkards 
rose  from  the  inn ;  he  walked  on  more  rapidly. 
When  near  the  chateau,  he  heard  the  stamping  of 
horses,  and  through  the  great  door  that  stood  open, 
saw  by  the  light  of  the  lanterns  the  servants  remov- 
ing the  trunks  from  a  travelling  carriage.  It  was  the 
equipage  of  the  Count  de  Manteigney,  who  had  just 
returned  to  the  castle  of  his  ancestors. 

While  in  the  vicinity  of  Grand  Fort,  Abbe"  Roche, 
thinking  only  of  avoiding  every  one,  had  walked  on 
with  a  firm  step  and  courageous  bearing,  but  when 
he  descended  into  the  valley,  and  found  himself  alone, 
lashed  by  the  wind  and  rain ;  when  he  saw  overhead 
long  black  clouds  that  gave  an  example  of  flight,  and 
seemed  to  wish  to  drag  him  with  them,  his  limbs  tot- 
tered, despair  overwhelmed  him,  and  wrapping  himself 
more  closely  in  his  cloak,  he  sat  down  upon  a  rock. 

The  mountains  looked  dark  and  gloomy,  the  dear 
mountains  he  had  loved  so  much,  and  so  often  ex- 
ploi*ed.  Down  below,  the  toi-rent  was  flowing  be- 
neath the  pine  trees;  there  was  the  village,  the 
church,  his  own  dwelling,  where  mere  Hilaire  was 
weeping  and  thinking  of  him,  saying  to  herself: 
"  Where  is  he  now,  where  is  he  ? "  And  farther  on, 
towards  the  left,  in  the  ancient  chateau  whose  outline 
was  scarcely  visible  against  the  lowering  sky,  the 
countess  was  singing  to  the  accompaniment  of  the 
piano,  or  talking  and  laughing.  The  lighted  windows 


284  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

might  be  plainly  seen.  He  felt  her  presence,  saw  hei 
leaning  back  in  her  large  arm-chair,  gay,  coquettish, 
eccentric,  as  on  the  day  of  his  first  visit;  then  anx- 
ious, passionate,  imploring  his  aid,  confessing  her  sor- 
rows to  him,  and,  too,  pulling  him  by  the  sleeve  and 
murmuring :  "  I  am  afraid,  M.  le  cure ;  what  is  that 
I  see  yonder  ?  I  am  afraid." 

What  was  she  doing,  what  was  she  saying  now  ? 
He  had  not  seen  her  for  a  long  time  !  She  had  not 
vouchsafed  him  a  single  word  !  She  no  longer  re- 
membered him;  but  he  could  never  forget  the  rap- 
ture, the  insults,  the  shame — nothing,  nothing  ! 

He  rose,  took  up  his  portmanteau,  and  resumed 
his  walk. 

"  Eh  !  who  is  that  ?  "  cried  a  voice ;  "  you  will  fall 
into  the  ditches  !  " 

The  priest  then  perceived  a  man  holding  a  lantern 
walking  towards  him.  "  Why,  it  is  you,  M.  le  cure," 
said  pere  Loursiere  when  within  a  few  paces,  "  and 
what  are  you  doing  among  the  works  at  this  hour  ? " 

"  I  am  attending  to  my  own  affairs  ;  and  you,  what 
are  you  doing  ?  " 

"  I'm  doing  just  what  you  are,  M.  le  cure,  mind- 
ing my  own  business,  since  I  am  keeper  of  the 
spring." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  the  abbe,  forcing  himself  to 
speak  gently;  "  forgive  me  if  I  was  harsh  to  you,  but 
I  am  in  haste ;  I  am  on  my  way  to  Virez  to  take  the 
coach  that  passes  at  half-past  eleven." 

"  Faith,  M.  le  cur6,  you  are  not  wrong  to  take  i 
little  trip  just  now ;  during  your  absence  people's 
heads  will  have  time  to  cool."  (He  laughed  in  his 
red  beard.)  "  The  country  isn't  particularly  Avell  dis- 
posed towards  you  just  now.  When  tongues  begin 
to  wag,  it  is  no  little —  It  has  been  said  that  you 
were  the  father  of  my  dead  daughter's  child !  And 
I  never  suspected  it !  Oh !  you  do  well  to  travel  for 
a  time." 


AEGVND   A  frTEING.  285 

"  But  you  know  very  well  that  it  is  a  slander, 
Loursiere,"  cried  the  curd. 

"  Well,  I  really  think  they  do  exaggerate  a  little." 

"  What,  knave,  you  think  !  Have  the  courage  to 
speak  the  truth.  You  know  perfectly  well  to  whom 
the  child  belongs.  Do  you  forget  that  I  paid  for  your 
silence  myself." 

"  Faith,  M.  le  cur<§,  I  don't  remember  anything 
about  it.  When  people  grow  old,  they  lose  their 
memory.  Besides,  I  haven't  time  to  think  of  all  that. 
M.  Larreau  has  appointed  me  keeper  of  the  spring, 
and  I  watch  the  spring.  May  I  be  hung  if  any  one 
obtains  a  single  glass  of  water  without  my  consent. 
I  don't  remember  anything  but  what  M.  Larreau  told 
me.  I  did  not  hear  you  coming;  I  was  in  my  shop, 
opening  a  box  of  chaplets  that  arrived  to-day.  Are 
you  going  right  away,  M.  le  curd  Take  care,  you 
will  fall  into  the  ditches. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  priest,  who  had  already  walk- 
ed several  paces  forward. 

When  Abb6  Roche  was  a  little  farther  away, 
Loursiere  muttered : 

"  There  goes  a  person  I  shan't  miss  !  One  cowl 
the  less,  that's  all ;"  then  raising  his  voice :  "  A  pleas- 
ant journey,  Monsieur  le  cure,  a  pleasant  journey  ! 


xxxvn. 

All  the  world  knows  how  rapid  and  brilliant  waa 
the  success  of  the  Manteigney  springs.  If  the  pres- 
ent state  of  the  country  is  compared  with  what  it 
was  formerly,  one  feels  amazed  by  the  marvellous 
transformation.  "  Indeed,  gentlemen,"  as  Count  de 
Manteigney  himself  said  a  few  days  ago  in  an  agri- 
cultural assembly,  "  modern  industry  offers  to  human 
activity  new  horizons,  whose  immensity  would  for- 
merly have  made  the  brain  reel.  The  genius  of  man 


286  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

is  only  beginning  to  spre.id  its  wings.  The  conquered 
earth  yields  her  treasures  ;  the  mountains  are  levelled 
and  disappear,  the  precipices  are  filled  up,  obstacles 
crumble  and  vanish.  Progress  touches  the  rock  with 
her  divine  foot,  and  suddenly  forth  springs  the  fruit- 
ful trinity,  which,  from  a  certain  point  of  view,  I 
might  call  holy,  and  which  gloriously  symbolizes  the 
future  of  modern  society — I  mean  science,  art,  and 
capital."  I  quote  this  passage  because  it  was  highly 
praised,  and  has  been  reproduced  in  many  places. 
The  Count  de  Manteigney,  as  is  very  evident,  had 
gradually  returned  to  healthful,  serious  life,  and  was 
devoting  the  political  and  moral  powers  which  had 
hitherto  slumbered  within  him  to  the  service  of  his 
country ;  but  the  other  wonders  resulting  from  M. 
Larreau's  efforts  must  be  mentioned. 

A  large  portion  of  the  valley  has  been  transform- 
ed into  a  park,  dotted  with  comfortable  cottages  de- 
signed with  the  most  exquisite  taste.  These  innu- 
merable little  villas,  half  concealed  in  verdure,  with 
their  pink  or  blue  blinds,  red  vases,  fragrant  little 
garden  plots,  and  tiny  fountains  playing  in  their  lim- 
pid basins,  produce  a  most  beautiful  effect.  Works 
of  art  have  risen  on  every  side,  as  if  by  magic,  and 
surprises,  as  charming  as  they  are  dainty,  await  the 
promenader  at  every  turn  in  the  walks  :  here  an  Egyp- 
tian tomb  occupied  by  a  pastry  cook,  there  a  temple 
of  Vesta,  beneath  whose  pillars  handsome  donkeys 
with  showy  trappings  are  constantly  standing.  Far- 
ther on  is  the  Parthenon  itself,  admirably  reproduced 
in  xiiuili-marbre,  and  containing  a  gymnasium,  fencing 
and  boxing  school,  pistol-gallery,  billiard-room,  and 
Holland  spinning  tops.  Above  the  immortal  frieze 
of  the  divine  Phidias,  a  colossal  veranda  has  been 
erected,  Avhich,  while  completing  the  ancient  struc- 
ture, forms  the  longest  photographic  establishment  in 
the  world;  an  immense  casino,  copied  from  that  of 
Arcachon,  dazzling  in  the  purity  of  its  Oriental  forms 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  287 

and  the  richness  of  its  domes,  occupies  the  centre  of 
this  earthly  paradise,  in  which  the  elegances  and  re- 
finements of  the  most  aristocratic  Parisians  find  suit- 
able surroundings :  concert-halls,  reading-rooms  with 
a  library  attached,  gambling  establishments,  an  elec- 
tric telegraph  communicating  with  every  part  of 
France  and  giving  each  item  of  news  as  soon  as  it  is 
known ;  there  is  not  a  bit  of  gossip,  a  change  in  the 
stock  market,  a  vote  of  the  chambers,  a  decision  of 
any  noted  law-suit,  of  which  Manteigney  has  not  the 
earliest  intelligence.  The  theatre,  where  the  most 
celebrated  artistes  consider  it  an  honor  to  appear,  is 
most  admirably  arranged,  beyond  all  criticism  from 
an  architectural  point  of  view,  and  in  most  perfect 
harmony  with  that  ardent'  worship  of  art  for  which 
our  times  are  renowned.  The  building,  standing  at 
one  end  of  the  lawn,  presents  on  each  of  its  four  fa- 
cades a  specimen  of  the  most  fashionable  styles  of 
architecture.  One  is  Japanese,  another  a  most  suc- 
cessful restoration  of  the  Etruscan  mode,  while  those 
of  the  Middle  Ages  and  the  Renaissance  are  re- 
produced on  the  third  and  fourth.  It  must  also 
be  mentioned  that  all  the  ornaments,  carvings  and 
projections  upon  this  building,  which  are  made  of 
iron,  painted  in  various  colors,  may  be  removed  with 
the  utmost  ease  and  again  replaced,  thus  afibrding  an 
opportunity  for  the  most  surprising,  instructive,  and 
often  happy  combinations.  The  idea  was  M.  Lar- 
reau's. 

The  edifice  at  the  springs  is,  with  good  reason, 
considered  the  beau-ideal  of  its  kind,  and  offers  sci- 
ence an  opportunity  of  observing  the  most  varied 
and  novel  modes  of  treatment.  Swedish  shower- 
baths,  Polish  immersions,  Egyptian  baths,  Roman 
pools  in  marble  basins,  galleries  for  inhalation,  halls 
for  pulverization,  Oriental  refreshment  rooms — Vichy, 
Luchon,  Plombieres,  and  Bareges  united  together 
could  not  form  so  complete  an  assortment.  The 


288  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

Virez  doctor,  whom  we  met  one  evening  wearing  a 
cap  on  his  head,  now  never  leaves  the  house  except 
in  a  black  coat  and  white  cravat,  having  been  ap- 
pointed sub-inspector  of  the  springs,  the  honorary 
direction  of  which  Dr.  Blavoux,  a  homeopathic  phy- 
sician from  Paris,  has  consented  to  accept  at  the  re- 
quest of  the  archbishop.  New  and  colossal  edifices 
will  add  fresh  splendor  to  this  thermal  establishment, 
which  already  defies  all  rivalry.  A  gasometer,  con 
structed  according  to  the  plans  of  an  English  engi- 
neer, affords  means  of  lighting  the  roads,  park,  cotta- 
ges, casino,  thermal  establishment,  in  short,  the  whole 
region. 

The  first  spring,  although  of  great  value,  would 
not  have  been  enough  to  supply  all  wants  ;  but  others 
of  incalculable  wealth  did  not  long  evade  the  search 
of  savants  and  physicians.  They  are  now  five  in 
number  :  the  Archbishop's  spring,  the  Larreau  spring, 
the  Jean  spring,  the  spring  of  the  Countess,  who  has 
given  the  name  of  Manteigney  an  heir,  and  lastly  the 
St.  Joseph  spring,  the  first  discovered  and  least 
prized  of  all.  The  Claudius  pool,  and  the  Desvialle 
pool,  the  former  fed  from  the  Larreau,  and  the  latter 
from  the  Jean  spring,  may  also  be  mentioned. 

After  all,  the  principal  cause  which  makes  Man- 
teigney a  unique  thermal  establishment  is,  besides  the 
excellence  of  its  waters,  the  natural  beauty  of  the 
country,  the  purity  of  the  air,  and  the  union  of  all 
these  attractions  in  a  delightful  valley,  the  aristocratic 
social  position  of  the  persons  who  meet  there.  In 
that  respect,  M.  Larreau  was  greatly  aided  by  a 
lucky  accident.  The  first  bathers  who  arrived  at 
Manteigney,  even  before  the  arrangements  were  fully 
completed,  were  friends  of  the  count,  and  belonged 
to  the  cream  of  Parisian  society.  Men  of  pleasure, 
artists,  authors,  were  received  at  the  chateau.  They 
drank  a  little  of  the  water  and  an  immense  quantity 
of  champagne;  most  delightful  entertainments  went 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  289 

given.  Xarboy  finished  his  last  novel  daring  his 
stay,  and  dedicated  it  to  the  countess.  Hunting-par- 
ties and  races  were  arranged  with  an  informality  very 
appropriate  to  the  mountains ;  dukes  and  marquises 
prepared  fireworks  with  their  own  hands,  while  the 
Parisian  papers  made  room  in  their  columns  for  arti- 
cles from  Manteigney,  filled  with  most  delightful  im- 
prudences. This  was  the  beginning — an  admirable 
opening,  which  Larreau  understood  how  to  turn  to 
the  best  advantage.  The  following  season  there  was 
a  rush  for  the  cottages,  and  the  success  of  the  Springs 
was  established.  I  will  not  deny  that  rumor  says 
M.  Larreau  is  not  the  only  one  to  bear  the  immense 
outlay  necessary  for  such  a  magical  transformation. 
He  is  said  to  be  in  partnership  with  very  great  and 
powerful  personages  whose  names  I  am  not  at  liberty 
to  mention.  Besides,  of  what  consequence  are  such 
reports  ?  The  result  accomplished  is  a  most  admira- 
ble one. 

The  famous  apparition,  the  first  cause  of  this  unpre- 
cedented success  is  not  wholly  forgotten ;  but  it  seems 
as  if  the  event  had  occurred  a  century  ago ;  it  now  exists 
only  as  a  confused  legend,  which  is  smilingly  related 
when  people  go  to  breakfast  at  the  hermitage  of  the 
White  Cross.  On  the  very  spot  where  the  miracle 
took  place,  a  little  restaurant  has  been  erected,  whose 
platform,  built  of  the  trunks  of  pine  trees,  projects 
over  the  path,  covering  it  like  a  roof,  and  affording  a 
most  beautiful  view  to  the  ladies  who  come  there  to 
breakfast  in  the  open  air.  Loursiere,  who  keeps  this 
mountain  restaurant,  has  a  very  fine  cellar,  and  a  cook 
who  excels  in  the  composition  of  certain  dishes. 
When  you  go  there,  ask  for  a  poulet  renaissance,  or 
simply  a  manteignaise  aux  champignons,  and  you 
•will  not  forget  it.  To  complete  the  moral  and  phys- 
ical regeneration  of  this  region,  it  must  be  mentioned 
that  the  village  of  Grand-Fort-le-Haut  .is  totally 
changed  in  appearance.  Within  the  space  of  two 
19 


290  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

years,  it  has  been  entirely  rebuilt  on  a  regular  plan 
and  bears  some  resemblance  to  the  towns  inhabited 
by  English  laboring  men ;  brick  and  cast-iron  are  the 
principal  materials  used  by  Larreau  in  the  construc- 
tion of  these  neat,  symmetrical  houses,  which  provide 
every  family  with  a  comfortable,  almost  elegant  abode, 
in  perfect  harmony  with  the  new  customs  of  the 
country.  Prosperity  has  been  very  generally  dif- 
fused over  the  mountains ;  there  is  no  longer  a  single 
peasant  who  does  not  act  as  guide,  donkey- driver, 
bath-tender,  or  dog-keeper,  and  they  have  acquired  a 
taste  for  their  new  mode  of  life  so  rapidly,  that  in  pass- 
ing through  the  new  village,  one  might  imagine  one's 
self  transported  into  some  beautiful  suburb  of  the 
capital.  The  livery  of  the  bath-tenders  is  gray  and 
blue,  of  elegant  cut,  and  most  convenient  design. 
That  of  the  guides  is  of  course  more  showy,  but  also 
in  perfect  taste.  From  time  to  time  the  countess,  or 
one  of  the  other  ladies,  adds  an  ornament  or  a  band  of 
trimming,  but  without  changing  the  style  of  the  orig- 
inal model,  which  was  designed  by  Vernon  himself. 
The  huntsmen's  uniform  is  very  peculiar:  the  stock- 
holders thought  very  justly  that  stout  boots  and 
cocked  hats  would  be  uncomfortable  to  wear  among 
the  rocks  ;  they  therefore  adopted  the  Scotch  costume, 
and  it  would  be  hard  to  imagine  anything  prettier. 

The  ancient  village  church,  a  very  curious  edifice, 
but  extremely  incongruous  amidst  the  present  sur- 
roundings, was  torn  down  and  rebuilt  during  one 
Spring,  and  Abb6  Desvialle  consented  to  be  appoint- 
ed cure,  on  the  express  condition  that  his  vicar  should 
take  his  place  during  his  frequent  absences,  The 
famous  religious  concerts,  whose  fame  has  spread 
throughout  Europe,  take  place  in  this  new  church, 
which  is  perfectly  adapted  to  the  requirements  of  the 
fastidious  congregation  that  assembles  within  its  walls ; 
but  this  lengthy  enumeration  must  be  brought  to  a 
close  :  things  having  been  described,  let  me  be  permit- 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  291 

ted  to  say  a  few  words  about  men.  The  Count  de 
Manteigney,  who  had  held  aloof  from  his  father-in- 
law's  first  efforts,  who  had  even  by  his  prolonged  ab- 
sence protested  against  the  apparition,  was  deep-: 
ly  impressed  when  he  saw  with  his  own  eyes  the 
first  advantages  of  the  enterprise.  He  then  suddenly 
perceived  what  the  future  might  hold  in  reserve,  the 
immense  benefits  which  the  enlargement  of  this  won- 
derful establishment  would  procure  for  him.  Under 
the  wise  counsels  of  his  father-in-law,  who  saw  the 
whole  bearing  of  any  matter,  as  we  know,  he  gradu- 
ally began  to  study  the  affair,  and  acted  as  mediator 
between  Larreau  and  the  different  persons  who 
wished  to  join  him  in  the  speculation.  The  stables 
for  the  stud  were  rapidly  completed,  the  grounds  for 
training  horses  arranged  according  to  the  count's  di- 
rections, and  he  at  last  felt  that  he  had  a  definite  ob- 
ject in  life.  He  became  acquainted  with  one  of  the 
ministers,  who  being  very  anxious  to  win  a  man 
whose  name  had  great  influence  in  the  department, 
welcomed  him  with  most  attractive  cordiality.  The 
prefect  completed  the  task  of  making  a  conquest  of 
the  count,  and  one  day  M.  de  Manteigney  felt  an 
emotion  of  regret  and  indignation  at  the  thought 
of  his  past  life.  Besides,  he  had  attained  an  age 
when  ambition  first  begins  to  awake  within  the  mind. 
Hitherto  he  had  looked  upon  his  father-in-law  as 
merely  a  vulgar  rich  man,  a  nobody,  separated  from 
himself  by  an  impassable  gulf.  Now,  for  the  first 
time,  he  wondered  whether  his  wife's  father  might 
not  prove  to  be  a  man  of  genius ;  and  wishing  to  have 
the  matter  settled,  asked  him  a  few  vague  questions 
about  his  plans  and  means  of  action,  and  was  amazed 
by  the  acuteness,  penetration,  and  accuracy  of  the 
perceptions  of  the  capitalist  whom  he  had  despised. 
As  he  became  moi'e  intimate  with  the  spout-maker, 
he  was  surprised  to  find  that  there  was  great  simi- 
larity in  their  ideas.  What  he  had  only  vaguely 


292  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

dreamed,  his  father-in-law  translated  into  clear,  pre- 
cise, practical  words.  "  Let  me  do  the  work,  my 
dear  Jean,"  said  Larreau,  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  his 
son-in-law,  "  only  give  me  the  moral  sanction  of  yonr 
name,  and  I  will  be  the  architect  of  your  prosperity 
and  fortune.  You  can  and  must  attain  complete  suc- 
cess, my  dear  friend,  you  have  only  to  allow  me  to 
act.  Manteigney  will  soon  become  the  real  centre 
of  the  department ;  the  frequent  visits  of  the  prefect, 
the  excessive  graciousness  of  the  archbishop,  prove 
the  fact.  Is  it  not  evident  that  every  one  perceives 
the  immense  power  we  shall  wield  ?  Keep  calm  and 
cool,  as  beseems  your  rank.  By  your  manners,  by — 
permit  me  to  enter  into  these  particulars — by  your 
very  dress,  inspire  confidence,  win  the  sympathies  of 
all.  How  many  political  fortunes  have  been  lost  on 
account  of  the  tie  of  a  cravat !  " 

"  You  are  not  so  far  wrong." 

"  Do  not  lose  sight  of  Vernon's  studio." 

"Oh!  Vernonis— 

"  In  my  opinion,  Vernon  is  a  knave.  As  the  occa- 
sion has  presented  itself,  I  am  not  sorry  to  tell  you  so 
frankly ;  but  after  all,  he  is  a  clever  fellow.  If  the 
man  himself  is  of  no  great  worth,  the  means  that  he 
has  at  his  command  are  none  the  less  valuable,  and  I 
don't  see  why  respectable  people  should  deprive  them- 
selves of  these  weapons,  which  are  just  now  the  only 
efficacious  ones.  What  do  we  ask  of  a  man  who 
wishes  to  be  a  centre,  a  pivot  ?  We  ask  him  to  be 
amiable,  amusing,  truthful  and  sincere  ;  but  he  ought, 
notwithstanding  this  sincerity,  to  modify  his  bearing 
completely,  as  the  circumstances,  ideas  and  impres- 
sions around  him  change  their  colors  and  appearance. 
We  are  pivots  only  upon  condition  that  we  turn  with 
the  rest  of  the  world,  my  dear  fellow.  The  objec- 
tionable thing  is  not  to  revolve  fast  enough,  to  fail  in 
agility,  to  creak  like  an  old  wine-press,  and  at  last  to 
be  crushed  by  the  very  power  which  should  keep  us 


AROUND  A  SPRING. 

upright.  I  do  not  mean  that  in  order  to  do  this  we 
are  compelled  to  give  up  our  own  tastes  and  individ- 
uality. You,  for  instance,  like  horses,  and  wish  to 
make  money  by  racing :  very  well,  give  the  thing  a 
different  color,  present  it  in  a  social  aspect,  speak  of 
free  interchange  between  nations,  of  taking  precedence 
of  government,  make  it  a  dynastic  question.  No  one 
will  be  the  dupe  of  your  theories,  but  nevertheless, 
you  will  inspire  confidence;  for  people  will  say: 
'  Here  is  a  man  Avho  understands  our  language,  we 
can  rely  upon  him. ' ' 

"  Yes,  it  is  true,  we  must  get  a  smattering  of  all 
this." 

"  No,  it  is  not  at  all  necessary ;  on  the  contrary,  it 
would  be  a  pity  to  have  you  initiated  into  these  special 
questions,  for  then  the  reality  would  triumph  over  the 
form,  and  you  would  no  longer  have  the  brilliancy, 
the  glitter,  the  tinge  of  the  unexpected,  which  are  in- 
dispensable. To  make  yourself  understood  you  must 
be  perfectly  clear,  and  you  can  be  clear  only  when 
you  know  no  more  than  those  who  are  listening  to 
you.  Besides,  all  that  has  no  real  importance  :  they 
are  only  the  minutia?  of  the  moral  toilet ;  but  we 
must  not  neglect  them  any  more  than  we  should  omit 
fastening  our  collars  with  a  gold  button  when  we  ap- 
pear in  public." 

"  Yet  you  must  admit  that  there  are  certain  es- 
tablished convictions  which  we  cannot  shake  off  as 
easily  as  we  would  throw  an  old  garment  aside." 

"  Do  not  satisfy  yourself  with  mere  words,  if  you 
have  convictions,  what  you  term  convictions,  keep 
them  for  yourself  arid  to  yourself,  like  the  old  generals 
who  bear  within  them  the  bullets  they  received  when 
they  were  ensigns.  It  is  a  matter  relating  solely  to 
the  health,  and  only  to  be  mentioned  among  intimate 
friends !  Sometimes  you  sigh  as  you  sit  by  the  fire- 
side. '  What  is  the  matter,  my  dear  Jean  ? '  says  papa 
Larreau,  who  perhaps  may  be  there.  '  My  bullet  hurts 


294  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

me.'  '  Oh  !  then  it  will  rain  to-morrow.'  We  speak 
of  something  else  and  think  no  more  about  it.  The 
echo  of  these  little  infirmities  should  never  be  per- 
mitted to  cross  one's  threshold.  That  is  the  plain 
truth.  If  you  will  allow  me  to  open  my  old  heart  to 
you,  I  shall  say  frankly :  '  As  regards  moral  theories, 
convictions  are  the  false  noses  that  papas  and  nurses 
inflict  upon  us,  and  by  which  we  are  duped  all  our 
lives.'  Do  not  be  surprised.  Suppose  one  has  a  con- 
viction about  a  material  fact :  my  vest  is  white,  your 
ci'avat  is  blue,  these  are  certainties — and  yet !  Open 
Chevreul's  book  for  a  critical  investigation,  wholly 
uninfluenced  by  anything  else,  and  when  you  have 
ascertained  what  the  optic  nerve  really  is  and  to  how 
many  errors  and  mistakes  its  sensations  are  subject, 
you  will  say  to  yourself:  '  It  is  certain  that  my  father- 
in-law's  vest  seems  to  be  white,  that  my  own  cravat 
appears  sky  blue  :  but  deuce  take  it  if  I  would  risk 
two  hairs  from  my  head  to  affirm  this  almost  certain- 
ly.' If,  then,  we  are  so  liable  to  error  in  the  matter 
of  physical  sensations, what  will  it  be  in  the  domain  of 
feeling  ?  Everything  is  open  to  doubt,  my  dear  friend, 
everything,  absolutely  everything.  In  the  most  hos- 
tile camps  there  are  persons  who,  in  good  faith,  treat 
each  other  as  knaves  and  impostors.  I  will  even  as- 
sert that  faith — whether  political  or  religious,  matters 
little — has  for  its  source,  its  support,  and  it  said,  incre- 
dulity, and  reciprocally  comes  under  the  same  head. 
Deists  and  atheists,  materialists  and  spiritualists,  repub- 
licans and  monarchists,  render  each  other  mutual  ser- 
vices without  suspecting  it :  they  maintain  their 
ground,  argue  together,  and  are  unconsciously  com- 
rades, all  the  more  valuable  to  each  other  because  total- 
ly unaware  of  the  invigorating  action  of  the  wounds 
they  bestow." 

"  What  you  say,  my  dear  father-in  law,  is  the  ar- 
gument of  a  profound  thinker ;  but  it  requires  a  pecu- 
liar temperament  to  reduce  your  theories  to  practice 


AROUND  A   XP1USC.  295 

To  perpetually  play  a  pai-t ;  to  sustain,  if  occasion  re- 
quires, an  opinion  exactly  the  opposite  of  what  one 
really  thinks — " 

"  You  are  a  child  !  you  must  always  think  what 
you  wish  to  sustain." 

"  But  is  that  possible  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  if  one  has  a  mind  sufficiently  superior 
to  remain  unbiassed  by  any  question.  You  are  the 
same  man  that  you  were  ten  years  ago ;  yet  see  how 
much  your  ideas  have  changed.  Did  you  not  at  first 
believe  that  your  birth  compelled  you  to  remain  in- 
active, and  have  you  not  honorably  and  piously  led 
an  idle  life  merely  that  you  might  not  dishonor  your 
ancestors  ?  " 

"  I  grant  that  I  was  foolish — I  did  wrong." 

"  By  degrees,  you  began  to  realize,  that  these  an- 
cestors, in  bestowing  their  name  upon  you,  had  be- 
queathed a  certain  amount  of  capital,  thereby  impos- 
ing the  moral  obligation  of  using  this  wealth,  and 
drawing  from  it  the  revenues  necessary  to  maintain 
the  dignity  of  your  birth,  and  gratification  of  your 
aristocratic  tastes.  They  placed  a  wonderful  tool  in 
your  hands ;  ought  not  gratitude  and  respect  to  induce 
you  to  use  the  instrument  skilfully  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly,  from  a  certain  point  of  view." 

"  At  the  present  day  it  is  a  disgrace  not  to  reap 
the  full  value  of  everything ;  we  do  not,  on  any  pre- 
text, excuse  or  pardon  it.  You  have  estates ;  make 
them  profitable,  or  you  will  be  deprived  of  them. 
You  have  a  name,  a  title,  moral  virtues,  physical  beau- 
ty ;  reap  some  advantage  from  these  things ;  it  is  the 
only  way  to  maintain  your  position  as  one  of  the 
privileged  classes.  The  French  nobility,  at  first,  es- 
tablished its  authority  at  the  sword's  point.  Now, 
when  people  began  to  fight  with  cannon  and  pistols, 
did  the -  remain  inactive  because  there  was  a  change 
in  the  weapons  employed  ?  At  the  present  day,  pis- 
tols and  cannon  are  replaced  by  commerce  and  man- 


296  ABOUND  A  SPBINO. 

ufactures.  Defend  your  shield,  therefore,  with  bank- 
notes, according  to  the  demands  of  the  times  in  which 
you  live !  I  assure  you  that  you  would  not  gain  a 
single  vote  by  presenting  yourself  at  the  next  assem- 
bly in  the  damascene  cuirass  worn  by  Kaoul  de  Man- 
teiguey,  which  is  now  at  the  end  of  the  corridor.  In 
1550,  the  mere  sight  of  that  piece  of  armor  would 
have  made  your  vassals  bow  their  heads,  and  all 
would  have  followed  you  with  the  greatest  enthusi- 
asm. Zounds  !  continue  to  be  an  aristocratic  noble- 
man, desire  and  love  the  same  things  that  your  ances- 
tors did,that  is,wealth,  prosperity  and  success ;  only  do 
not  fancy  you  must  put  on  their  old  worm-eaten 
clothing  to  obtain  it.  Employ  different  means  to  se- 
cure the  same  object." 

Such  were  flic  friendly  conversations  maintained 
by  Larreau  and  his  son-in-law.  The  latter,  who  at 
first  had  been  shocked  at  the  rude  form  in  which  the 
capitalist  expressed  his  ideas,  gradually  acquired  a 
taste  for  them,  soon  became  a  convert  to  his  views, 
and  boldly  entered  upon  his  ue\v  career.  From  that 
time  nothing  appeared  useless  to  him.  He  organized 
agricultural  meetings/  attempted  to  work  the  marble 
quarries  in  the  mountains,  and  established  relations 
between  himself  and  various  important  undertakings. 
His  activity  became  amazing :  for  many  years  he  had 
been  extremely  saving  of  exertion.  He  tried  experi- 
ments, advanced  new  ideas,  proposed  a  hundred  fresh 
expedients,  and  became  the  friend  of  the  prefect,  who, 
one  evening,  concealed  under  the  count's  napkin  a  bit 
of  red  ribbon  that  he  had  just  obtained  for  him. 

The  countess  could  find  no  words  to  thank  Heaven 
for  her  happiness.  She  possessed  her  husband's  love, 
had  won  his  heart,  and  was,  at  last,  in  the  position  of 
which  she  had  often  dreamed — that  is,  surrounded  by 
a  gay  circle,  caressed,  wealthy,  able  to  gratify  all  her 
wishes,  the  mistress  of  a  luxurious  and  elegant  home, 
bearing  with  dignity  and  honor  the  great  name  of 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  297 

Manteigney.  On  his  side,  Count  Jean  had  quick- 
ly perceived  that  his  wife's  assistance  was  of  no  tri- 
fling importance  in  the  task  he  had  undertaken,  and 
as  he  no  longer  did  things  by  halves,  became  a  model 
husband,  and  very  quickly  acquired  a  taste  for  the 
conjugal  virtues  which  so  greatly  strengthened  his 
position.  The  red  ribbon  made  him  the  countess's 
devoted  lover  :  perhaps  he  was  not  unaware  that  she 
had  exerted  a  powerful  influence  in  obtaining  the 
honor. 


xxxvnL 

A  few  days  ago,  the  count  having  left  the  room 
directly  after  dinner  to  attend  to  one  of  his  mares 
that  was  very  sick,  M.  Larreau,  the  countess,  Abbe 
Desvialle,  and  the  prefect  were  left  to  themselves  in 
the  little  blue  parlor,  chatting  together  very  merrily. 
After  a  few  moments  spent  in  conversation,  Mme.  de 
3Ianteigney  slowly  arose  from  the  cushions  among 
Avhich  she  had  been  reclining,  went  to  the  piano,  re- 
moved a  half  dozen  bracelets  that  might  have  been 
in  her  way,  and  began  to  play  the  overture  of  Don 
Giovanni. 

If  there  is  a  time  when  music  is  especially  de- 
lightful, it  is  surely  after  dinner,  when,  comfortably 
seated  among  a  few  friends,  we  can  enjoy  it  at  leis- 
ure, without  thinking  of  our  neighbors.  Under  such 
conditions,  music  becomes  a  most  exquisite  pleasure. 
Abbe  Desvialle  and  the  prefect,  who  greatly  enjoyed 
it  under  such  circumstances,  sank  back  in  their  arm- 
chairs and  permitted  it  to  pervade  their  whole  con- 
sciousness. The  capitalist,  less  affected  by  these 
dainty  luxuries,  had  drawn  a  light  towards  him  and 
was  looking  over  the  papers  and  magazines  piled  up- 
on the  table.  One  of  these  pamphlets  undoubtedly 
contained  an  extremely  interesting  article ;  for  when 


298  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

the  countess  stopped,  M.  Larreau  continued  to  read 
without  raising  his  eyes.  This  was  by  no  means  his 
usual  custom ;  he  was  always  the  first  to  compliment 
his  daughter,  and  though  by  no  means  a  lover  of  mu- 
sic, usually  appeared  to  be  exceedingly  enthusiastic 
at  the  conclusion  of  every  piece.  "  Is  papa  pleased  ?  " 
said  the  countess,  touching  the  capitalist  on  the  shoul- 
der. 

The  latter  started  suddenly,  like  a  man  roused 
from  a  dream,  "  Excuse  me,  darling,  I  heard  nothing ; 
I  was  reading  a  very  interesting  article." 

"  That  is  very  polite ;  may  I  know  the  name  of 
the  magazine  ?  " 

"  The  '  Annals  of  the  Propagation  of  the  Faith? 
There  are  five  or  six  numbers  whose  leaves  have  not 
yet  been  cut,  but  this  one  contains  a  very  remarkable 
letter." 

"  What  is  its  subject  ? "  asked  Abbe  Desvialle ; 
"  some  martyrdom,  probably,  some  of  the  heroic  ac- 
tions common  among  our  missionaries  ?  " 

"  I  will  read  the  letter  to  you,"  murmured  Larreau, 
adjusting  his  eye-glasses.  "  Dear  and  venerated  col- 
league, etc.,  etc.  I  will  omit  the  beginning.  Here  it 
is : 

"  KUEN-TLNG-PACO,       ) 
Dec.  Gth,  18— ,J 

"  Universal  alarm  prevailed.  The  bandits,  pursued 
by  the  imperial  soldiers,  but  rather  guided  by  them, 
entered  the  province,  yet  I  did  not  omit  to  conduct 
the  holy  services  of  mass  as  usual,  asking  the  divine 
protection  of  God,  who  alone  can  save  us.  At  its 
close,  we  carried  the  consecrated  vessels,  books,  and 
records  to  a  secluded  spot,  and  buried  them  about  a 
hundred  and  thirteen  yards  within  the  borders  of  a 
wood ;  after  which  we  prepared  to  fly  towards  the 
mountains,  carrying  the  children  and  old  men  in  the 
hammocks  used  as  litters  in  this  country.  My  mind 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  29 9 

was  filled  with  the  greatest  anxiety.  We  had  been 
able  to  collect  only  a  scanty  store  of  provisions, 
which  would  surely  prove  insufficient,  but  the  most 
important  matter  was  to  reach  the  mountains  in 
time;  and  all  the  rumors  caused  me  to  fear  that  we 
might  be  stripped  by  the  bloodthirsty  bands  in  the 
very  heart  of  the  long  valley  we  were  compelled  to 
cross.  Our  only  hope  was — " 

"  That  is  not  a  very  lively  article,"  murmured  the 
prefect,  with  the  music  of  Don  Giovanni  still  ringing 
in  his  ears. 

"  The  heroism  of  these  holy  martyrs  to  the  faith  is 
really  sublime,"  remarked  Abbe  Desvialle,  pushing  a 
little  cushion  under  his  polished  boots. 

"  All  these  missionaries  are  sent  from  the  Rue  du 
Bac,  are  they  not,  M.  1'abbe  ?  That  is  their  central 
station  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Madame.     What  a  beautiful  church  it  is !  " 

"  Isn't  it  ?  so  cosy,  so  warm,  so  well  filled  !  Oh  ! 
if  I  had  been  obliged  to  be  married  anywhere  else,  I 
really  believe  I  should  have  remained  an  old  maid. 
Ha  !  ha  !  perhaps  that  is  a  slight  exaggeration,  but  I 
only  said  so  by  way  of  emphasis.  I  have  but  one 
iault  to  find  with  the  Church  of  the  Missions,  and  that 
is,  the  interminable  corridor  leading  to  the  vestry  ;  it 
is  a  perfect  labyrinth,  enough  to  make  you  fancy  your- 
self in  the  catacombs ;  little  chills  pass  over  you ; 
you  are  afraid  of  being  attacked.  Ha !  ha  !  ha  !  I  am 
exaggerating  a  little  again,  but — " 

''  I  beg  you  to  allow  me  to  continue,"  said  the  cap- 
italist ;  ''  you  cannot  help  being  interested  in  this 
article." 

"  Our  only  hope,  the  safety  of  my  dear  flock,  de- 
pended wholly  upon  the  energy  of  a  new  missionary, 
who  had  joined  us  only  a  few  days  before.  This  es- 
timable brother,  who,  listening  only  to  his  religious 
zeal,  gave  up  the  parish  in  France  of  which  he  was 
the  incumbent,  and  obtained  permission  to  become  a 


300  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

missionary,  is  a  tall,  powerful  man,  endowed  with  rare 
courage  and  firmness.  Scarcely  had  he  been  apprised 
of  the  danger  that  threatened  us,  when  he  strenuously 
insisted  upon  our  leaving  the  village.  '  I  will  take 
charge  of  everything,'  he  added  eagerly.  '  I  will 
guard  the  houses.' — '  But  you  will  be  massacred,  my 
dear  Roche,'  said  I,  '  your  life  is  precious  to  us, 
and—'  " 

"What?"  interrupted  the  countess,  "Roche — 
Roche  !  Is  it  Abb6  Roche,  the  former  cure  of  Man- 
teigney  ?  " 

"I  should  not  be  surprised  if  it  were,"  replied 
Abbe  Desvialle.  "  I  think  I  heard  the  archbishop  say 
that  Abb6  Roche  was  now  in  China,  or  somewhere  in 
that  part  of  the  world.  He  is  just  the  right  man  to 
be  in  the  vanguard,  and  I  do  not  doubt  that  he  has 
rendered  valuable  services  there.  Go  on,  M.  Larreau, 
this  is  really  by  no  means  uninteresting." 

"  It  is  simply  magnificent,  as  you  shall  see  !  I 
will  continue  :  '  But  you  will  be  massacred,' etc.  'That 
is  by  no  means  certain;  but  under  any  circumstances, 
I  shall  be  able  to  keep  these  savages  at  bay  long 
enough  to  give  you  time  to  reach  the  mountains.'  I 
embraced  him  with  tears  in  my  eyes  and  we  set  out. 

"  Our  poor  hamlet  has  only  one  entrance,  which  is 
extremely  narrow.  The  brave  missionary  collected 
everything  that  he  could  carry,  furniture,  boards,  etc., 
and  piled  them  up  there,  not  with  any  expectation  of 
opposing  a  serious  impediment  to  the  brigands'  pro- 
gress, but  to  lead  them  to  fear  a  sturdy  resistance, 
and  thus  delay  their  attack.  Having  accomplished 
this  task,  he  shut  himself  up  in  one  of  the  nearest 
huts,  barricaded  it  as  well  as  he  could,  and  waited 
about  an  hour,  when  a  small  detachment  of  bandits 
appeared  at  the  entrance  of  the  village,  evidently  very 
uneasy  on  perceiving  the  defences  that  barred  the 
way.  Courage  is  not  their  strong  point;  they  con- 
sulted together,  then  slowly,  one  by  one,  picked  their 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  301 

way  through  the  pile  of  furniture  and  entered  the 
hamlet,  sword  in  hand,  and  listening  intently.  Then 
they  again  stopped  and  hesitated ;  the  silence  which 
reigned  round  them  seemed  more  alarming  than  re- 
sistance. During  this  time  our  revered  Roche,  while 
counting  the  minutes,  was  with  us  in  thought,  and 
believing  that  we  had  not  yet  reached  a  place  of 
safety,  addressed  the  most  fervent  prayers  to  Heaven. 
The  bandits  at  last  decided,  and  either  by  chance  or 
because  they  had  seen  the  head  of  the  missionary, 
who  was  watching  them  through  a  chink  in  the  roof, 
went  directly  towards  the  hut  in  which  he  had  taken 
refuge,  and  beat  upon  the  door  uttering  loud  cries. 

"  Finding  that  no  one  answered,  and  the  entrance 
was  still  closed,  they  attempted  to  force  a  passage, 
and  soon  succeeded.  Seven  or  eight  of  these  fiends 
then  rushed  into  the  house  ready  to  exterminate  the 
unfortunate  Christians  whom  they  hoped  to  find 
there ;  but  our  brave  colleague,  whose  most  earnest 
desire  was  to  gain  time,  sprang  through  an  opening 
in  the  rear  of  the  hut,  and  passing  around  it,  suddenly 
attacked  three  or  four  of  the  bandits  who  had  pru- 
dently remained  outside,  threw  one  of  them  to  the 
ground,  wrested  his  spear  from  him,  and  like  a  new 
(Samson  charged  upon  the  others  with  superhuman 
vigor.  The  Philistines  who  had  remained  at  the  door 
Avere  soon  disabled,  imploring  for  mercy  amidst 
shrieks  extorted  by  the  pain  of  their  wounds,  while 
those  who  had  entered  the  house  terrified  by  the 
clamor  without,  believed  themselves  to  be  surround- 
ed, lost,  and  took  to  flight  in  every  direction  as  last 
as  possible. 

''  Our  heroic  brother  was  left  master  of  the  field 
of  battle.  The  scoundrels  had  probably  not  dreamed 
that  a  black  robe  could  cover  so  stern  a  warrior. 
Wounded,  suffering,  and  unable  to  rise,  they  expect- 
ed the  conqueror,  imitating  their  ferocity,  would  give 
them  a  death-blow ;  but  the  mercy  and  charity  of  a 


302  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

soldier  of  Christ  are  equal  to  his  courage.  Onr  dear 
brother  at  once  sought  to  relieve  them,  hastened  in 
search  of  water,  and  helped  them  to  moisten  their 
lips.  The  soldier  was  transformed  into  a  sister  of 
charity,  and  it  was  not  until  he  heard  the  rapid  ap- 
proach of  a  more  numerous  band,  that  the  missionary 
took  refuge  in  another  hut  and  again  barricaded  him- 
self, hoping  to  renew  the  stratagem  which  had  proved 
so  successful;  but  this  time  the  assailants  came  in 
hundreds ;  the  village  was  captured  in  an  instant,  and 
the  doors  were  forced  or  dashed  in  pieces.  Our  un- 
fortunate friend,  driven  into  one  corner  of  the  room 
to  which  he  had  retreated,  defended  himself  bravely, 
thinking,  even  in  this  moment  of  peril,  of  gaming 
time  for  us  and  concentrating  the  rage  of  the  Pagans 
upon  himself.  He  killed  the  nearest,  who,  pressed 
forward  by  the  crowd,  could  not  escape  his  terrible 
blows  by  flight ;  but  at  last,  overwhelmed  by  num- 
bers, severely  wounded,  covered  with  perspiration 
and  blood,  was  borne  down,  tied  hand  and  foot,  and 
dragged  out  of  doors. 

"  It  is  very  probable  that  if  our  dear  brother  had 
encountered  the  bloodthirsty  mob  of  rebels,  as  in  the 
first  instance,  he  would  immediately  have  atoned 
for  his  bold  resistance  with  his  life ;  but  this  second 
troop  was  no  other  than  a  detachment  of  the  imperial 
army,  with  whose  banners  the  newly-arrived  mission- 
ary had  not  yet  become  familiar. 

"  They  led  him  to  the  next  city  as  if  he  had  been 
a  malefactoi'.  On  the  way,  the  soldiers  who  sur- 
rounded him  pricked  him  with  their  weapons  to  ac- 
celerate his  pace,  rendered  slow  and  feeble  by  his 
painful  wounds.  Yet  from  the  memory  of  our  divine 
Saviour  he  obtained  superhuman  courage,  did  not  ut- 
ter a  complaint,  and  entered  with  a  smile  the  misera- 
ble dungeon,  where  he  was  surrounded  by  wretched 
criminals,  who  overwhelmed  him  with  scorn  and 
insult." 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  303 

Larreau  paused  an  instant  to  take  breath. 

"  The  account  is  highly  dramatic,"  murmured  the 
prefect,  "  rather  long,  but  very  well  written." 

"  It  makes  -the  tears  come  into  my  eyes,"  cried  the 
countess;  "  poor,  poor  cur6 !  it  seems  as  if  I  could  see 
him  among  those  fiends ! "  And  she  instinctively 
glanced  towards  a  Chinese  screen  on  which  two  war- 
riors of  the  Celestial  Empire  were  embroidered  in 
gold  thread  upon  scarlet  satin.  The  capitalist,  with 
evident  emotion,  resumed  his  reading: 

"  The  very  next  morning  he  was  removed  from 
this  disgraceful  cell  to  be  dragged  before  his  judges. 
It  was  on  this  occasion  that  our  revered  brother 
showed  a  heroism  beyond  all  praise.  He  was  accused, 
ostensibly  at  least,  of  having  resisted  the  imperial 
army,  made  common  cause  with  the  rebels,  and  op- 
posed the  will  of  the  emperor;  but  in  reality  his  title 
of  Christian  was  the  true  cause  of  the  atrocities  in- 
flicted upon  him.  They  pretended  to  believe  in  the 
existence  of  a  conspiracy,  a  political  plot,  and  inso- 
lently accused  him  of  being  one  of  its  chiefs. 

"  I  will  relate  the  particulars  of  his  last  examina- 
tion ;  it  is  well  calculated  to  inflame  the  zeal  of  the 
young  priests  belonging  to  the  missions.  The  fol- 
lowing details  I  received  from  an  interpreter  who,  be- 
longing to  a  Christian  family,  and  being  himself, 
through  the  mercy  of  God,  anxious  to  become  a  con- 
vert, sent  them  to  me : 

"  All  the  princes  of  the  blood  were  seated  at  the 
tribunal.  On  their  right  were  the  civil,  on  the  left 
the  military,  mandarins.  The  hall  was  filled  with  sol- 
diers, and  behind  them  struggled  a  crowd  of  eager 
spectators.  The  executioners,  with  their  instruments 
of  torture  arranged  before  them  in  regular  order, 
stood  at  the  foot  of  the  tribunal. 

" '  Do  you  recognize  any  of  your  accomplices 
among  these  persons  ?  '  asked  the  president,  directing 
his  attention  towards  several  prisoners. 


304  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

"  '  I  have  no  accomplices,  why  should  I  ?  '  he  re- 
plied. 

"  The  mandarins  looked  at  each  other  and  one  of 
them  gave  orders  that  he  should  be  fastened  to  the 
stake  and  receive  ten  blows  from  a  bamboo  rod  to 
compel  him  to  confess  the  names  of  his  accomplices. 

"  He  endured  the  blows  without  uttering  a  word, 
or  even  changing  color. 

" '  He  is  obstinate,'  said  the  mandarin.  Then  ad- 
dressing the  martyr,  '  Come,  tell  the  truth,  and  you 
shall  be  pardoned ;  but  if  you  continue  to  deny  your 
crime,  we  shall  treat  you  with  still  greater  severity.' 

" '  Do  I  seem  like  a  man  who  is  afraid  ? '  he  an- 
swered. 

"  And  he  said  the  words  so  proudly,  gazed  so 
boldly  towards  the  tribunal,  that  the  mandarins  caused 
him  to  be  again  bound  to  the  stake  and  scourged 
anew. 

"  Two  executioners  relieved  each  other,  and  when 
he  was  removed  without  having  uttered  a  com- 
plaint, he  said :  '  I  struck  harder  than  that,  you  are 
children.' 

"  Then  all  the  mandarins  began  to  speak  at  the 
same  time,  in  an  outburst  of  fury.  One  said  :  '  Your 
flesh  shall  be  torn  with  red-hot  pincers.'  Another  : 
'  He  must  have  swallowed  some  potion  which  saves 
him  from  pain.' — '  Will  you  resist  the  whole  tribu- 
nal ?  '  vociferated  a  third. 

"  '  Why  do  you  not  scream  when  you  are  lashed, 
proud,  obstinate  fool  ? ' 

"  '  I  keep  silent  because  I  should  ask  you  in  vain 
to  spare  me  even  a  single  stroke  of  the  bamboo. 
Why  should  I  weary  myself  with  useless  shrieks  ?  I 
suffer  greatly  when  you  scourge  me,  but  I  wish  to 
show  that  the  great  God  whom  I  adore  gives  his 
children  strength  to  endure  pain.' 

"  '  You  shall  die  under  the  pincers ! ' 

"  '  I  have  no  more  fear  of  the  pincers  than  of  the 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  305 

rod.  If  I  were  afraid  of  anything,  I  should  not  be 
here.' 

"  '  And  you  will  not  confess  ?  ' 

"  '  I  have  told  you  I  have  nothing  to  tell.' 

"  They  again  fastened  him  to  the  stake  and  be- 
gan to  beat  him  most  brutally.  All  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  him ;  there  was  a  great  tumult  in  the  hall,  and 
the  judges,  excited  by  the  heroism  of  this  holy  man, 
considering  his  silence  as  an  insult,  and  urged  on  by 
dull  hatred  of  the  Christians,  shouted  to  the  execu- 
tioners :  '  Strike  harder  !  strike  harder  ! ' 

"  And  he,  gaining  fresh  courage  under  the  blows, 
with  his  face  illumined  by  a  light  imparted  from  on 
high,  also  shouted  in  his  powerful  voice,  which  rose 
above  the  noise  of  the  crowd  and  the  insults  of  the 
mandarins  :  'Strike  !  Have  you  lost  your  strength  ? 
My  God,  pardon  my  sins  ! ' 

"  Beneath  his  bleeding  skin  the  muscles  of  his 
herculean  limbs  could  be  seen  contracting,  so  that  the 
cords  seemed  to  cut  into  his  body,  and  the  stake  to 
which  he  was  bound  creaked  like  the  mast  of  a  ship 
in  a  tempest. 

"  This  lasted  a  long  time,  then  he  was  unfastened 
and  laid  upon  a  mat.  His  flesh  was  frightfully  lacera- 
ted, he  was  covered  with  blood,  and  in  his  face,  from 
which  life  seemed  to  have  departed,  nothing  was  visi- 
ble but  his  sparkling  eyes.  He  was  carried  back  to  a 
dungeon,  where  he  was  left  alone,  a  hideous,  yet 
sublime  object.  Women  recoiled  in  terror  as  he 
passed. 

"  Meantime,  I  had  been  informed  of  all  this  by  a 
proselyte,  and  without  reflecting  upon  the  dangers 
which  the  step  might  involve,  instantly  went  to  the 
place  and  urgently  entreated  permission  to  enter  the 
martyr's  prison.  The  fear  of  incurring  the  just  anger 
of  the  French  authorities  prevented  the  tribunal  from 
refusing  my  request,  and  the  door  of  the  dungeon 
was  opened  to  admit  me.  Alas  !  my  pen  refuses  to 
20 


306  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

describe  the  scene.  I  beheld  our  dear  brotfter 
stretched  upon  the  ground,  the  death  rattle  sounding 
in  his  throat.  Doubtless  his  wounds  had  re-opened 
and  a  hemorrhage  followed,  for  he  was  lying  in  a  pool 
of  blood. 

"  I  approached  him,  tried  to  speak  to  him,  kissed 
his  icy  forehead,  but  he  was  perfectly  unconscious, 
his  soul  was  about  to  ascend  to  its  God,  and  he  ex- 
pired in  my  arms  a  few  moments  after  my  arrival, 
just  as  I  gave  him  my  benediction. 

"  Such,  gentlemen  and  respected  colleagues,  was 
the  exemplary  death  of  this  generous  martyr  of  the 
Faith  ;  his  fate  is  to  be  envied ;  may  Heaven  reserve 
a  similar  one  for  us !  May  this  heroism  at  last  en- 
lighten the  Heathens  and  make  them  comprehend  that 
such  courage  comes  from  God  alone.  It  is  He  who 
has  done  all,  to  Him  be  the  glory. 

"  JSTon  nobis,  Domine,  non  nobis,  sed  nomini  tuo 
da  gloriam" 

The  close  of  the  reading  was  followed  by  a  long, 
silence,  which  was  first  broken  by  Abb6  Desvialle, 
who  had  been  turning  his  snuif-box  in  his  fingers  for 
the  last  ten  minutes. 

"  That  is  an  admirable  death,"  said  he,  "  really  ad- 
mirable, and  early  to-morrow  I  shall  celebrate  a  mass. 
You  will  come  to  it,  will  you  not,  Madame  ?  " 

The  countess  made  no  reply.  She  had  turned 
very  pale,  and  was  leaning  back  in  the  depths  of  an 
arm  chair,  as  if  fainting.  "  I  ought  not  to  have  read 
all  these  horrors  before  her,"  cried  M.  Larreau,  has- 
tening towards  his  daughter. 

"  Salts,  a  glass  of  water ! "  exclaimed  the  pre- 
fect. 

"  It  is  nothing,  I  am  quite  well  again,"  said  the 
countess,  rising.  "  Poor  cure — poor  cure  !  That  hor- 
rible death  has  upset  me,  and  to  think  that  I  have  left 
the  souvenir  he  sent  me  on  his  departure  almost  for- 
gotten in  the  depths  of  a  closet." 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  307 

"  What  was  it,  my  child  ?  You  never  told  me  of 
any  souvenir." 

"  Oh !  no  doubt,  because  when  I  received  the  gift 
people  were  so  ill-disposed  towards  the  poor  cure" 
that  I  thought  it  best  not  to  speak  of  it.  It  is  a 
magnificent  crucifix ;  I  will  go  and  find  it ;  I  locked 
it  up  and  then  thought  no  more  about  it." 

"  Not  yet,  dear  child,  you  have  not  entirely  re- 
covered from  your  emotion ;  you  need  not  trouble 
yourself,  I  will  ring  for  your  maid." 

"  She  would  not  know  where  to  look  for  it.  Be- 
sides, it  will  do  me  good  to  take  a  little  exercise." 

When  Mme.  de  Manteigney  had  left  the  parlor, 
the  capitalist  resumed  the  conversation  :  "  But  what 
the  deuce  was  that  dear  Abb6  Roche  doing  there  ? 
When  I  say  dear —  In  short,  I  wished  him  no 
harm,  although  he  left  the  country  in  the  most  unbe- 
coming manner,  without  even  a  formal  leave-taking, 
when  I  had  shown  him  a  confidence,  a  friendship — 
Fortunately,  I  am  prepared  for  such  things,  I  have 
seen  so  much  of  it  in  the  course  of  my  life !  Be- 
sides, he  was  a  rough  man,  unaccustomed  to  the 
amenities — " 

"  His  vocation  had  a  powerful  influence  over  him," 
observed  M.  Desvialle  with  a  seriousness  full  of  unc- 
tion. "  The  mission  of  a  priest  is  one  of  sacrifice,  my 
dear  M.  Larreau ;  you  cannot  understand  it.  And 
the  prospect,  the  almost  certainty  of  martyrdom,  is 
a  divine  allurement  which  arouses  and  excites  the 
soul." 

"  You  make  my  mouth  water,  my  dear  cure,  pray 
give  me  a  pinch  of  snuff.  The  truth  in  regard  to 
Abbe  Roche  is  simply  this  :  I  can  venture  to  say  that 
I  know  men  thoroughly,  and  I  believe  my  judgment 
of  him  to  be  perfectly  impartial.  With  all  his  appar- 
ent simplicity,  the  dead  man  was  a  very  clever  fellow ; 
but  he  was  seeking  his  path,  his  goal  in  life — he  had 
not  found  his  object :  hence  his  hesitations,  his  incon- 


308  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

sistencies.  Do  not  imagine  that  he  went  to  China 
without  some  important  motive." 

"  You  surprise  me,"  murmured  Abbe  Desvialle. 

"  Some  enterprise,  some  bold  stroke  tempted  his 
ambition,  I  assure  you;  stop,  now  I  think  of  it:  the 
Chinese  accused  him  of  being  at  the  head  of  a  political 
conspiracy.  Eh  !  eh  !  that  does  not  appear  so  very 
incredible  to  me.  Don't  smile,  my  dear  cm-e,  do  we 
ever  know  what  thoughts  may  be  passing  through  the 
brains  of  others  ?  " 

"  Here  is  the  ivory  Christ,"  said  the  countess,  en- 
tering the  parlor,  followed  by  her  maid.  "Put  the 
crucifix  on  the  table,  Marie.  That  is  right,  you  can 
go.  Is  it  not  beautiful,  my  dear  cur6  ?  What  do  you 
think  of  it,  M.  le  prefect  ?  How  exquisite  the  carv- 
ing is,  how  much  feeling  is  expressed  in  the  counte- 
nance of  the  dying  Christ !  Look  at  the  head,  it  is 
superb." 

"  Even  the  frame  is  wonderful." 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  piece  of  workmanship,  and  must 
certainly  be  of  great  value." 

"  But  how  did  such  a  masterpiece  fall  into  the 
hands  of  a  poor  country  cure,  who  certainly  could  not 
have  saved  its  price  from  a  few  farthings  ?  " 

"  I  remember,"  said  the  countess,  "  that  poor  Abbe 
Roche  told  me  how  it  happened,  in  a  very  touching 
manner.  This  wonderful  carving  fell  into  his  hands 
from  the  skies,  one  might  almost  say.  just  as  he  left 
the  seminary.  The  box  containing  the  crucifix  was 
brought  to  his  house  in  a  wagon,  and  in  spite  of  all 
his  efforts,  he  had  never  been  able  to  discover  the  name 
of  the  person  who  sent  the  gift." 

"  Our  excellent  Abbe  Roche  was  different  from 
the  rest  of  the  world  in  everything,"  observed  Lar- 
rtau. 

"  This  is  no  time  for  jesting,  father.  He  spoke  of 
it  with  so  much  feeling !  Perhaps  there  might  have 
been  some  lamily  tie  connected  with  it,  which  he 


AROUND  A  SPRING.  309 

guessed,  though  unable  to  explain.      In  eome  men's 
lives  there  are  mysteries — " 

"  Oh  !  M.  Roche's  family— "Abbe  Desvialle,  who 
had  spoken  the  last  words,  suddenly  stopped.  "  This 
is  carved  with  wonderful  skill." 

At  that  moment  Count  de  Manteigney  appeared, 
pushing  aside  the  curtain  that  hung  over  the  doorway. 
His  face  expressed  great  annoyance.  "  She  is  dead  !" 
he  exclaimed,  pulling  off  his  red  gloves,  "  she  is  dead  ! 
Oh!  I  am  so  sorry." 

"  You  mean  he  is  dead,  my  dear  Jean.  Ah  !  yes. 
It  is  true." 

"  No,  the  colt  is  doing  very  well,  it  is  my  poor  mare 
that  is  dead  !  Why,  where  did  you  get  that  crucifix  ? 
It  is  a  superb  thing !  But  I  know  that  carving;  I  have 
seen  it  a  hundred  times."  He  turned  the  crucifix  in 
every  direction ;  as  he  looked  at  it  more  closely,  his 
recollections  seemed  to  become  more  exact.  "  I  rec- 
ognize this  red  velvet.  I  remember  this  gap  you 
see  in  the  frame.  How  long  ago  it  seems  !  Stop, 
here  at  the  bottom  there  used  to  be  a  silver  shell  to 
contain  the  holy  water ;  has  it  been  lost  ?  But  where 
was  this  crucifix  discovered  ?  I  gave  orders  that 
every  corner  of  the  chateau  should  be  searched.  How 
glad  I  am  to  find  it  again !  It  hung  beside  the  bed 
in  the  large  yellow  room  where  my  mother  died." 
Then  turning  to  the  countess  :  "  You  will  have  this 
relic  placed  in  the  spot  where  it  belongs,  and  from 
which  it  should  never  have  been  removed,  won't  you, 
ray  love  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,"  replied  the  young  wife,  who 
was  trembling  with  emotion,  "  certainly." 

No  one  dared  to  resume  the  conversation  which 
had  been  interrupted  by  the  count's  entrance.  Not 
a  word  more  was  said  about  the  heroic  martyr. 

M.  de  Manteigney,  seeing  that  all  were  silent, 
eagerly  continued :  "  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  fools  1 
When  they  saw  the  poor  beast  was  ill,  one  would  have 


310  AROUND  A  SPRING. 

supposed  they  would  have  told  me  at  once  !  Not  a 
bit  of  it !  On  pretence  that  I  was  just  going  in  to  din- 
ner, they  sent  for  the  veterinary  surgeon  at  Virez  ! 
Poor  beast ! " 

"  Are  you  talking  of  the  veterinary  surgeon  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  talking  about  my  mare.  Ha !  ha  !  ha ! 
Yet  I  am  by  no  means  in  the  mood  for  laughing." 

(i  It  was  a  natural  mistake.     Ha !  ha  !  ha ! " 

"  Gentlemen,  tea  is  ready." 


THE    END. 


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